


Come a Little Closer

by silversky



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe-Fairies, Alternate Universe-Magic, Alternate Universe-Mermaids, M/M, Other, Temporary Character Death, jj is kind of an asshole, mentioned OC death, mermaid yuri, nonbinary yuri, phichit is kind of perfect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 04:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11051604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversky/pseuds/silversky
Summary: Some people spend their summers going on road trips and swimming in the ocean. Others spend them falling in love with angry mermaids and finding out their destinies. Otabek's happy to say he gets to do both.aka Teamwork Makes the Dream Work, in which Otabek learns there's life after loss, Yuri learns the value of an open heart, and the power of love saves the day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Rollercoaster by the Bleachers, which became the theme song for this fic despite having very little to do with it.
> 
> I want to first thank my beta, the amazing, talented, inspiring [ strangeite](http://strangeite.tumblr.com/), without whom this fic would have a very different ending, and a much crappier beginning and middle. Thank you for the support, the listening ear, and the ignored suggestions to maybe try getting some sleep. You're the best <3
> 
> Thank you also to the mods of the challenge. I'd never have attempted writing something this long without being involved in a challenge like this, and I'm so so grateful for the opportunity to give this a try. They put up with too much from me and my delays and I can't thank them enough.
> 
> Lastly, a huge thank you to my artist, [kaligulas](http://kaligulas.tumblr.com/). Their fabulous art captured me the moment I saw it, and while I doubt this fic is what they had in mind when they made it I hope it's on par with their skill. Getting to write for art this gorgeous is a dream come true.
> 
> If you have concerns about the deaths in the fic, or any other tags you want explained/added, please leave a comment or come talk to me at [ my tumblr](http://theoncomingcroat.tumblr.com/). Enjoy!

When Otabek is twenty three he wins Kazakhstan’s first medal in Olympic swimming. His muscles burn as he hauls himself out of the pool, his mind buzzes as he comes down from the high of competition, and it’s only as a reporter’s microphone is pushed into his face does he realize exactly what he’s done.

Gold.

He’s an Olympic gold medalist.

The shock doesn’t wear off until the medal ceremony is long past, after days of picking up the hefty circle and staring until his eyes water. As soon as he’s able to give an interview without wanting to ask if they’re sure no one’s made a mistake, Otabek starts redirecting praise: the guidance of his coaches, the support from his family, the inspiration of his country. Fame has never been why he swam, he admits to one determined interviewer. He swims for everyone around him, to live up to the belief that has propelled him from a small town boy born in the dusty steppes to a man referred to by some as the Hero of Kazakhstan.

Otabek keeps the deeper reason to himself. The public doesn’t need to know the peace that floods him when he swims, the way his body focuses until all that remains is him and the water. The feeling is something he can’t replicate, his bike and music coming in distant second, and staying away makes his skin itch. It’s a drive like nothing else, a love like nothing else, and in the end, Otabek knows if he lost the water he’d lose a piece of his soul.

Six months later, in the middle of a routine warmup, Otabek miscalculates his speed during a turn and slams into the side of the pool. It’s a rookie mistake but not unheard of. Everything should be fine. Instead something screams in his left shoulder, pain rippling through his body as he spasms in the bloody water. By the end of the day he knows he’s fractured his clavicle. By the end of the week he knows he’ll never heal enough to compete again.

When Otabek is twenty four he ends his career, disappearing from public view. The sports world laments the loss of such a stellar athlete and speculates furiously on where his life will go, the consensus tending towards pessimism. The mental toll of such a blow is hard to recover from, they agree, especially in one so young. Otabek is written off as a tragedy and consigned to a memory in history books, a warning tale for upcoming swimmers. Soon the world moves on.

This is what happens next.

* * *

“Where the hell are you?!”

Otabek rests his phone between his shoulder and his ear, using his freed hand to steady his bike. There's something going on with the front wheel, making it wobble slightly the past ten kilometers or so, and he wants to get it dealt with before he sets out. “What?”

“Don't 'what’ me,” his sister snaps. Her tone is a familiar irritation, Otabek almost able to imagine she's beside him, sharp eyeliner and long fingernails pointing accusingly. “I've been calling you all morning, my patience is officially gone.”

“Sorry Aisha,” he replies. Maybe one of the wheel nuts is coming loose? He knew he should have done a more thorough maintenance check before leaving. “What do you want from me exactly?”

“How about an explanation? A week ago you were in Almaty, talking about an interview you had at that club you like…” She trails off.

“Xtra,” he offers. Yes, it's one of the nuts. It's lucky he caught it now before it could get actively dangerous. He pulls a wrench from the small toolkit he keeps strapped to the back and gets to work.

“Yes, that!” She speaks on as if there were no pause. “Then today I get a call from your landlord asking if there's any chance I know your new address in case misdirected mail shows up. Because apparently you've moved out!”

“Does Jamal not have my number? I'd think he'd try calling me first.”

“Damn it Beka, you know that's not the point.” Aisha sighs, the rush of air making the phone crackle. When she continues speaking her tone is subdued. “What's going on?”

Otabek stops, grabbing his phone and resting his head on the wheel. After so many hours on the road the rubber burns. He focuses on the pain, letting it him ground him. He’d wanted to avoid this conversation as long as possible, but he should have known his family would realize sooner rather than later. “I couldn't stay in Almaty anymore,” he mumbles. “I’ve been trying but I just…”

“Oh Beka.” Aisha sighs again. “I know that. No one thinks you've been doing anything less than your best. But your whole life is in that city. Your family, your friends. Do you really think moving is the best option? Without telling anyone? I was so worried.”

“I'm sorry.” So many apologies. So much regret weighing him down. “I knew someone would talk me out of it if I waited. That’s what you’re trying to do now, isn’t it?”

His sister coughs, one of her tells when she’s been caught doing something she’s ashamed of. It’s all the confirmation he needs.

“I have to do this.” Otabek puts as much determination into his voice as he can muster. “You’re right, my life was in Almaty. But that’s not my life anymore and trying to hang on like it still is…it was killing me Aisha.”

“But moving—”

“I need a fresh start.” Away from the memories and expectations and disappointment. Away from the failure that haunts every centimeter of that city. “Maybe just for a while, I don’t know. Please, give me some time to figure out my next step.”

Aisha sniffs, her voice wavering. She always was an easy crier. “Alright then. You’re an adult, I can’t tell you what to do anymore anyway. Are you sure you’re going to be ok?”

“Not really.” His sister’s been able to sense when he was lying since they were children. He figures it’s better to bare all than have her get suspicious and send a search party. “Better to try and fail than be buried by fear though.”

“How are you so well adjusted?” She laughs, and Otabek lets a smile grow on his own face. He turns, leaning back against his bike and staring up at the sky. It’s barely noon and he’s already in the mood for a nap. Leaving behind your life requires so much effort, both physical and emotional.

“You at least have to tell me where you’re going. This isn’t some backpacking across Europe to find yourself trip is it? Mama will kill me if she finds out I let you do that; twenty four years old or not you’re still her baby.”

“Don’t worry, you should be safe from Mama’s wrath.” Otabek closes his eyes, letting the memory of his mother’s protective love fill him with warmth. “I’m about half a day outside of Kanga.”

“You’re going to Grandma’s place?” It’s clearly not what she was expecting to hear. “That’s practically the other side of the country! How are you not dead?”

“Fortitude and luck.” A lot of luck, to be honest. Now that Otabek isn’t being swamped by the urge to leave leave leave, he can admit that setting off on an over two thousand kilometer journey on a day’s worth of planning was the opposite of a smart move. He’s just glad he never had any real mechanical trouble. “And technically it’s my house. She left the property to me in her will, remember?”

“I take it back, you’re not well-adjusted, you’re an idiot. Besides, you haven’t been there since before she died. How do you know the place is even still livable?”

“Papa kept it going until I came of age and now I do too. We sometimes rent it out to foreigners looking for a really remote vacation spot.”

Aisha snorts. “Remote’s one word for it. You remember the summers we spent there? The place has like, one grocery store and a mosque. I’m surprised you could even buy gas.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Otabek protests. He’d never understood his older sisters’ easy boredom with their weeks in the small town. Tiny didn’t mean uninteresting, and he’d always found lots of ways to entertain himself.

“That’s right.” His sister’s voice gains an unmistakable smirk. “I forgot about Yuri.”

Oh no. “Aisha, please don’t,” he tries.

“C’mon baby bro, it was cute.” There’s no stopping his sister now. “So you had an imaginary friend, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Otabek bites back the instinct to argue. He was lonely child, he knows that, especially in Kanga. Creating a friend would have been an easy jump to make, even if all his hazy memories insist there was nothing fake about that last summer. Well, except for—

“And they were a mermaid! I was almost impressed with your imagination, you know. Most kids would have just thought up a random friend from town, but you went all out.”

“Thank you for the validation, now please shut up.” Otabek took enough mocking from his sisters (and enough worry from his parents) as a child about Yuri. It’s an old wound, but it still stings.

“Alright fine, Mr. Grumpy.” If Aisha were here he’s sure she’d be flicking his thick eyebrows in retaliation for what she determines to be unnecessary seriousness. “Anyway, promise me you’ll call when you get to town. Let me know you’ve reached what passes for civilization out there and aren’t dying on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.”

Otabek promises, tells his sister he loves her, and hangs up before she can demand anything else. If he wants to make it to Kanga before nightfall he needs to make good time, and while he doesn’t have enough of a schedule to be set off track by spending the next half hour reassuring Aisha that he’s not going to get himself killed, the principle of the thing still matters.

It’s the work of a few minutes to finish fixing his bike, and after a gulp of water—he’s reaching the end of his supply, it’s a good thing he’s near his destination—he pulls back onto the interstate. Losing himself in the rush of wind and road is easy; it’s why his impulsive decision to come out here involved taking his bike, instead of a bus or train. With his mind focused on the machine beneath him, on the world around him, there isn’t room for anything else. He can drift, free.

Hours go by without a sign of other humans besides the asphalt stretching ahead and Otabek lets his thoughts wander. They eventually land on his destination, the town he hasn’t been to since he was nine years old and the memories, real or not, that he made there.

* * *

_“Are you going to the shore again, dushen'ka?” A wrinkled hand grabs Otabek’s shoulder before he can make it out the door. He looks up into the face of his grandmother and tries to grin innocently._

_“No?”_

_She chuckles, pulling him back into the depths of the house. Otabek expects to be given a lecture on the dangers of swimming like he gets at home and told to go find his sisters to play with for the day. Instead, she sits him down at the kitchen table and stares thoughtfully._

_“Am I in trouble?” he eventually asks._

_“Do you think you should be?”_

_What Otabek thinks about his attempts at swimming and what generally happens are very different. He goes for honesty. “Not really, but Mama and Papa don’t like me swimming alone. They say I’m going to drown one day.”_

_His grandmother shakes her head, smiling. “Your Mama isn’t very fond of you going on adventures is she?”_

_“It’s why she moved away,” Otabek agrees. “She says she wanted to live somewhere with more than a dozen buildings, so we could grow up with adult supervision.”_

_“And then she got a curious boy like you, so I guess the fates had different ideas, hmm?” There’s a strange look on his grandmother’s face, pleased yet wistful. She reaches out to Otabek and rests her palm on his cheek. Her hand trembles slightly._

_“Is something wrong Grandma?” The woman is getting old, Otabek able to see more lines and weakness on her body than he had the year before. He'd overheard his parents whispering over whether she'd be up for taking in her grandchildren at all next summer and the worry hadn't left him since._

_“Everything's fine darling. I'm just thinking about how big you've gotten.” Her hand flashes up to his hair and she ruffles it fiercely._

_“Stop it,” Otabek giggles, pulling away to protect his nine year old dignity. He tries to look as grown up as possible, puffing up his chest beneath his threadbare shirt._

_His grandmother gasps dramatically. “I guess you really are getting old, if you won't let your poor grandma show you her love. How time flies by.”_

_Despite knowing she's joking Otabek can't help but stand up to hug her, burying his face in her patchwork dress. “Just cause I'm bigger doesn't mean I'm gonna stop loving you,” he mumbles._

_Warm arms wrap around his back and Otabek feels the body beneath his cheek lift from a deep breath. “I never doubted it for minute, don't you worry.”_

_The boy stays in the embrace for a few moments more, eyes squeezed shut, before he squirms back to meet his grandmother's gaze. “So can I go swimming?”_

_Her laugh fills the cluttered kitchen, a hearty symbol of Otabek's treasured summers. “How about we make a deal?”_

_He nods at once. Anything is better than the near-constant nos he gets at home._

_“Alright then.” The old woman gently pushes him back onto the hard wooden chair and starts fumbling with something at her neck. “There are many dangerous things in the world, Beka. Beautiful too, but you need to respect them or they will devour you. The sea is just the first you'll meet, so make sure you start out on the right path.”_

_Her words sound different than the warnings he usually hears. There is no condemnation in them, simply fact and a strangely instructional tone. It makes him sit up straighter and strain to catch everything._

_“If you want to explore I won’t stop you,” she continues. “But I need a promise that you’ll be careful. Tell me if anything happens so I can help you prepare better for the next time.”_

_Otabek promises quickly, already coming up with plans now that he doesn’t need to limit his trips to time easily explained away or hidden. He’s going to see how long he can hold his breath and how deep he can dive and—_

_“One more thing.” His grandmother’s words interrupt his careening thoughts, this time stern and direct. She holds out a small pendant, a tiny, nondescript grey stone hanging from a loop of leather. Otabek recognizes it instantly—he’s never seen his grandmother without it._

_“Your good luck charm? For me?”_

_“We’ll see if it works as well for you as it does for me. But it’s only for while you’re at the shore; when you return be sure to bring it back to me.” She rests it around his neck and the boy feels a strange warmth run through him. His body feels heavier, sturdier. He presses the stone to his chest and frowns._

_“I promise I won’t lose it,” he says firmly._

_“Just don’t be careless Otabek,” she responds. “Balance your faith in yourself and in the protection that stone gives with respect for what you’re doing. It’s easy to get lost out there, and we don't want that to happen to you; you’re my only grandson after all.”_

_And with that she pulls him to his feet and out of the kitchen, pushing him through the door with a smile and a wave. Otabek blinks in the early morning sunlight, still gripping the pendant in his small hand. He lets the energy fill him again, imagining it as his grandmother’s arms around him. Then he turns, breathes in deep, and follows his shadow to the water._

* * *

Kanga is smaller than he remembered. Otabek can’t tell if it’s the natural result of returning somewhere as an adult that he’d only seen as a child, or if the town has actually shrunk. Either is possible, he supposes. The main street is hardly more populated than the desolate highway he’d come in on, the air itself dry and somehow unwelcoming. He gets the feeling his arrival, a strange man on a dusty motorcycle rumbling into town as the sun touches the horizon, is the most exciting thing to happen to this place in a while.

The drive up to his grandmother's old house brings a wave of nostalgia. There, the tree under which Aisha would spend days reading, so that by the end of summer she'd have a suitcase full of finished novels and deep brown skin from the sun. There, the house of the only children in town his eldest sister Sofia's age, where she spent the majority of her time pretending she was from a big city. There, the still abandoned corner store where he and his sister Rayana, only two years older than him, would play for hours.

That is, until that last summer, when Rayana decided she was too grown-up to look after her little brother and Otabek quickly found himself otherwise occupied.

The setting sun is on its last legs when Otabek reaches his destination on the far edge of town. Deep shadows obscure most of the property, but he's still shaken by the changes he can see. Whereas the town itself seems to have changed little, over a decade of low maintenance has left his grandmother's home, the place his mother grew up, the host to so many of his adventures and dreams, a very different beast. Otabek feels his heart ache as he turns off his bike and approaches the building. It's as if, finally seeing the overgrown garden and faded siding in person, he's being faced with his grandmother's death all over again.

“Sorry for staying away,” he whispers into the empty air. There's no response, but Otabek pretends the click of the front lock when he turns the rusty grey key is a forgiving one.

The minimal upkeep Otabek has paid for at least means the lights still work. He remembers how happy his grandmother used to be about having electricity, telling tales of the year the nearest plant started producing enough power to justify extending the lines to their tiny town. There’s a danger in complacency, she’d say. Remember where you came from, so that you might be thankful for what you have. Like so much of what the old woman said, the advice didn’t stick with Otabek until she was long gone. He’s grateful that he kept at least this part of her life, of her joy, present through to today.

Otabek lets the backpack that holds all the belongings he brought here slip to the floor by the entrance and pushes further inside. There’s a deep layer of dust everywhere, betraying that despite the occasional visits by foreigners enchanted by rural Kazakhstan (and willing to pay for the opportunity to pretend they’re a part of it), this place is all but abandoned. He runs a finger over the old birch table that takes up much of the kitchen and feels a melancholy overtake him.

What was he thinking, coming back here? That he’d find the ghost of his grandmother making pirozhki like he was a child and everything would be fixed? Otabek grits his teeth and runs a hand over the half-shorn hairstyle he’d adopted recently. Life isn’t that simple. _His_ life isn’t that simple.

The lights flicker, as if mocking his indecision. All his progress, all his mistakes, and he’s somehow found himself right back where he began, nothing to show for it but a stiff shoulder and a thousand regrets. Panic hits him for the first time since he left Almaty, pushing him into a crouch on the battered floor.

What is he supposed to do? For the first time in over a decade he has no goal to strive for. He’s lost, directionless, adrift amongst all the possibilities of the future and the few treasured paths now closed. Otabek pulls in slow deep breaths, trying to force down the anguish clenching his heart. He needs to calm himself. He needs to focus. He needs to…

He needs to swim.

The urge crashes over him, so intense he almost loses his balance. It’s been months since he last let himself touch more water than what came out of his shower. Going back to his favored pools means facing the reality of what he’s lost, the pity shining from the eyes of every inhabitant of his old life. It was better to hide instead, pushing his desires away until he could convince himself he was content.

Otabek drags himself to his feet, snorting at how ineffective that strategy was. All hiding got him was so stressed and lonely that he fled to somewhere he knew no one would search, a solution that extended the problem. It’s time to face this head on. No more running. No more fear.

As a child the walk to the shore took him maybe half an hour; on his bike it’s a matter of minutes. He’s perched on the same rocky outcrop he’d favored before he can fully think his plan through. It’s beginning to become a habit, Otabek thinks, jumping in headfirst without examining the situation. Unlike him as it is, the novelty is refreshing. And why shouldn’t he be reckless? Safety and surety let him down in the end.

Besides, it was a foolhardy decision on this very spot, on a moonlit night much like tonight, that kickstarted his summer adventures. Precedence is in his favor. Otabek kicks off his boots, shrugging out of everything but his boxers as the night breeze whips around his shivering skin. There’s no time for hesitation.

He dives.

The water’s perfect.

* * *

_The water pulls ferociously at Otabek’s body, his helpless head plunging beneath the waves once more. He kicks, trying to break free from the tug of undertow, the crashing mess he’d foolishly swum right into. It’s no use. His small form scrapes against an unseen surface of jagged edges and he gasps, remembering too late the water that immediately floods his mouth. Pulling away does nothing but disorient him more, until Otabek can’t even tell which direction is up. Fear almost paralyzes him._

I don’t want to die _, he screams in his mind, fingers searching for something, anything to steady himself against the pummeling waves._ Help me, please, I’m so scared _._

_A buzz comes thundering into him, starting at his chest and spreading, spreading through his whole body like fire. It shakes him more than the surrounding water and he gasps again. Then, just when he thinks he might explode from the pressure of…whatever this is, it’s gone, draining so quickly Otabek somehow feels emptier than he did when it arrived. The waves remain, relentless._

_And then something slams into his back. He flails as wiry arms wrap around his chest and yank him forward, through the cold and wet until suddenly his face meets air. His choking, desperate breaths are interrupted by more pressure as he’s dragged towards what he frantically hopes is the shoreline._

_The rush of the current ebbs as they round an outcropping into an alcove Otabek suddenly recognizes and he wriggles free, weakly clambering up onto a rocky shelf jutting from the cliff face. He lies there, panting, small sobs shuddering through him as his mind comes down from its single-minded terror._

_“Are you gonna die?” a high pitched voice asks curiously._

_Otabek jerks upright, remembering all at once how exactly he was saved in the first place. Floating in the water a few meters away, seemingly unbothered by the still harsh waves, is a child. A boy, Otabek thinks, but they’re young enough that it’s difficult to tell for sure, and there’s a certain sharpness about their face that suggests something wholly different. Long blond hair lies sodden on the child’s head and neck and wide blue-green eyes stare unnervingly up at him. He gapes._

_“I guess not.” His savior swims closer, a strange flash in the dark water all that precedes the movement. A long pause appears as the two children stare at each other._

_“Thank you,” Otabek finally says. “I…I don’t know how you’re here but I was about to drown and—”_

_“What do you mean you don’t know how I’m here?” the child interrupts. “You’re the one that called me!”_

_Otabek blinks. “What?” he manages._

_“Well I didn’t come on my own.” The frown that spreads across the child’s face is adorable in its intensity. They swim even closer and the part of Otabek’s mind that isn’t overcome by his near-death experience wonders how in the world they’re doing so. Their arms are submerged, folded across their chest, and the motion is too smooth to be purely from kicking._

_“I’m very grateful,” he tries again, “but I didn’t do anything. Whatever called you, it wasn’t me. It’s not like I’m magic.”_

_The child moves closer still, until they’re able to reach the ledge and start pulling themself up to rest next to Otabek, who thinks his jaw might dislocate from how fast it drops._

_The creature before him continues to frown as they adjust their tail. It’s long, almost three times longer than the torso above it, and a deep ebony black. Crimson splotches bigger than Otabek’s head decorate it at random, culminating in a massive, delicate fin at the end. The pale neck, previously covered by water and hair, twists to reveal two red slits on each side, fluttering gently at their exposure to the open air._

_Those inhuman eyes turn to meet his and Otabek feels two very different urges battle each other in his chest. Should he flee, taking his chances with the same open water that nearly killed him before as long as it gets him away from the impossibility by his side, or stay, and let the allure of the unknown tempt him into what could be an even more dangerous situation?_

_The choice is made for him when a slender hand stretches out, heading towards his neck. Otabek flinches backwards, realizing too late that he’s trapped himself against the cliff face. The creature raises an incredulous eyebrow and points again. “You called me,” they repeat slowly, as if to an idiot (something Otabek gets the creeping suspicion he’s acting like), “with that. Of course you have magic.”_

_Oh. He lifts his hand to grab his grandmother’s good luck charm. It’s warm to the touch, and when he looks down he sees a faint green sheen emanating from the normally grey stone. The energy that filled him when he was in the midst of drowning suddenly makes much more sense._

_“Wow,” he whispers, trying to fit the marvels of what he’s seeing into how he knows the world should work._

_“So can you send me home now?” Now that his companion’s voice isn’t half obscured by the slap of water between them, Otabek can hear a faint tremor. It dawns on him that, no matter how strange or extraordinary this experience is, the creature before him is still clearly a child._

_“I don’t know how,” he admits. “But don’t worry, I’m sure we can figure it out!”_

_He’s glad he continued so quickly, as the mix of rage and fear that spread across the face before him fades. “You better,” is the response he gets. “I’m very important you know, if I go missing you’ll be in big trouble.”_

_Well that’s just his luck. Accidentally summon a, a mermaid to save him from drowning, only to be hunted down by their caretakers for kidnapping. “I’m sorry then. We’ll get you back to your important business as soon as possible.”_

_Otabek doesn’t mean to sound patronizing, but if the look he’s shot means the same in mermaid as it does in human, he hasn't succeeded. “Just because I’m still learning the basics doesn’t mean I’m not going to be super powerful one day. They’re just waiting until I’m a bit older to teach me the really cool stuff. I’m gonna be the best!”_

_There's a kernel of truth in the boasts, one that makes Otabek wonder who (even in the mermaid world) he has sitting with him, but more prominent is that same air of uncertainty. Before Otabek is fully aware of what he's doing his hand moves forward to pat the glistening tail comfortingly. The scratch of scales against his skin is less disturbing than he would have expected; unfamiliar, rather than unpleasant. He lets himself focus on the sensation instead of the alarm bells blaring in his mind._

_“What are you doing?” is asked after a long, awkward moment._

_“Comforting you?” Otabek tries. It's the best explanation he can come up with._

_“I'm not a child!” the child scoffs, puffing up their skinny chest. “I don't need you to protect me!”_

_“Just get you home,” Otabek smirks. He thinks he's beginning to get a handle on this conversation—after all, for all their protesting the mermaid has done nothing to remove his hand or stop its gentle rubbing. Still, he doesn't want to misrepresent himself. “And I'm not trying to protect you. I'm thinking you can do that on your own.”_

_“You are?” The words are tinged with a surprise, a shock, that Otabek can’t believe is feigned. Whoever this child is, they’re clearly used to being underestimated._

_“Sure. You may look small,” he gestures with the hand not brushing scales at the mermaid’s (and what is happening, that his talking to a mermaid is becoming less exceptional than reassuring said mythic creature of their consequence?) pale torso. “But you saved me, alone, and I’m guessing without much preparation. I can tell you’re a fighter.”_

_“A fighter,” they echo, earlier bravado vanished. In its place is a confused awe, and a blush that runs all the way down their bare shoulders._

_“A soldier even.” Otabek leans forward, locking his gaze with that of the being before him. There’s something in the air, in his blood, that pushes him to continue quickly. “You have the eyes of a soldier.”_

_“My name is Yuri,” the mermaid blurts. The non sequitur throws Otabek off balance, but the buzz only builds. He can feel it working through his grandmother’s charm this time around, looping out of his chest down to his toes and back._

_“Otabek,” he replies, trying to focus through the fire in his gut. This must be the precursor to whatever called Yuri here, but how did he do it the first time? What is he supposed to do now?_

_“First name only, you’re smart.” Yuri places their hands on Otabek’s and grins. “You seem like a fighter too, Otabek. I’m glad we met. Now send me home.”_

Home, _Otabek thinks, as loud as he can._ Go home, Yuri.

_A roar fills Otabek’s ears as a flash of light envelops the mermaid still grinning by his side. He gasps, shaking his head to rid himself of the overstimulation of two senses. When he looks up, Yuri is gone._

_Alone on the rock, Otabek takes a minute to process what just happened. Then the laughter comes, long and half-hysterical, impeding his breath for the second time that day. “That was incredible,” he whispers to the empty air when he can finally produce words._

_There’s no way it’s not happening again._

* * *

It takes two weeks for a truck to rumble up through Kanga, carrying amongst its many boxes the few things Otabek had managed to arrange being shipped from his old apartment before fleeing. He's been making due with the single change of clothing he'd stuffed in his travel bag, but he won't deny he’s looking forward to wearing something other than his riding outfit. It's getting too hot for jeans and as much as Otabek would prefer otherwise, he can't spend the rest of his life half-naked in the sea. He needs to buy food sometimes. And try interacting with his neighbors without seeming like the epitome of a foreign interloper.

Looking back Otabek is frustrated he didn’t anticipate their reactions, but the memories of his summer in Kanga make recognizing that he no longer truly counts as a resident difficult. He likes seeing himself as part of the town, despite his time away. The townsfolk, though, have a different opinion.

The morning after his arrival, when he’d finally returned to his grandmother’s house and lay claim to the room he’d once shared with Rayana, he’d awoken to an incessant tapping echoing softly through to the back. Stumbling blearily to examine the source, Otabek had been greeted by two young girls tossing rocks at the front door. They’d run off when he’d appeared in the window and he’d stared after them, tired and confused.

Going into town had only deepened his confusion. Passerby gave him a wide berth on the street. The cashier at the local grocery, still old Amir even after fifteen years, stayed silent while ringing up his scant purchase. It was only when he’d gone into the post office to confirm his new address (no need for Aisha to have another reason to call and yell at him), that he’d gotten an answer.

“You left,” Miras had shrugged. He’d been too old for Otabek to play with but he recognized the boy, the man now, from a few photos of his sisters’. Seeing him now, a grown man in charge of the whole town’s mail, had felt like a vicious blending of the past and present, of two worlds better off apart. “Your whole family did, when Galina died. Never once came back, and you’re surprised people are suspicious now that you have?”

‘I was a child,’ Otabek had wanted, still wants, to protest. ‘What could I have done to change what happened?’ But he’d closed his mouth and nodded, accepting the knowledge for what it was.

He can’t tell what he’s supposed to do with his glimpse into the town’s psyche though. Publicly apologize for his father moving them to Almaty for better work after the family’s only relative in the area was gone? Find each person he’d known as a child and share tales of the last fifteen years? Admit defeat and leave, more lost than before?

Instead Otabek has spent the last two weeks devoting himself to cleaning his grandmother’s house. It feels wrong to call it his own, despite possessing the deed for over half his life. The place will always be his grandmother’s, even if the property shifts and attunes to his presence. At some point in the process, elbow deep in the weeds that cover the back porch, Otabek wonders if his grandmother felt the same way when the house became hers, if each generation of the family had to build their life into the wood and dirt and sea to make Kanga theirs. Maybe he isn’t as different as the isolation and mistrust convey. It’s the one thing that comforts him, as he sifts through the decay of this place he loves.

The arrival of his things seems like the start to truly inhabiting the home and so Otabek furiously unpacks. His clothes go into the dresser by the small bed he’s been pretending is anywhere near as good as the one he left behind. His few cooking utensils decorate the pristine kitchen counters he spent an entire afternoon scrubbing and buffing. And his record collection, his pride and joy when on dry land, takes center stage in the front room. Opening the door and seeing something so intrinsically his fist thing brings him closer to feeling accepted every day.

Of course, all the cookware and music Otabek owns can’t compare to the small box tucked away at the back of the shipment. Packing it had been a spur of the moment decision in a series of spur of the moment decisions, so when he comes across the box it takes him a second to remember what’s inside. Then he pales. His hand has the faintest tremor as he lifts the lid and looks inside.

A small grey stone wrapped in leather lies on a bed of cotton. Despite the years of inattention it’s free of dust, smooth and pristine as the day he left it there. Otabek lets his fingers hover over the pendent and closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Grandma,” he whispers. He knows now that what happened wasn’t his fault, but the guilt spilling through from his childhood stings all the same.

She’d died three days after his parents had brought him and his sisters home. Tripped on the stairs and hit her head. An accident, everyone had said. Unlucky. When he’d heard that word Otabek had clutched the pendant resting in his pocket, the pendant his grandmother had called her good luck charm, the pendant he’d forgotten to return that very last day in the rush of goodbyes, and felt his heart shatter.

He’d put it away that night and never touched it since, bringing it with him when they moved only out of a perverse need to remind himself what he’d done. Eventually it had become habit to take it to whichever new residence he had even as the guilt faded, until it got absentmindedly thrown in as he prepared for this latest trip and ended up back where it had all begun.

The shaking in his fingertips brings his skin brushing against the cool stone, and Otabek jumps as a warmth bursts through his body. It’s deeply, impossibly familiar. He shakes his head and yanks his hand away, falling back as the buzz slowly fades.

Too slowly.

Sitting on the front room floor, surrounded by the last of the boxes containing his life, Otabek waits in vain for the energy he hasn’t felt in fifteen years to vanish. It shouldn’t exist at all, his memories of it the product of a lonely and overactive imagination, and yet it continues to lay there, restless and eager in the back of his mind.

“Alright,” Otabek breathes, and starts rationalizing. He’s tired. Living in Kanga is stressful and finding the pendant even more so. Bringing up old memories relating to his stress isn’t an unbelievable jump for his mind to make. Nothing has actually happened after all, just a strange feeling. There’s no real proof that this is more than a fantasy to sleep off and laugh about in the morning. And yet his thoughts still burn, something itching under his skin until he leaps to his feet trying to shake it out.

Fine then. Otabek rolls his shoulders, bends his knees, then snatches up the pendant before he can lose his nerve. The roar washes over him, stronger than it ever had in those impossible memories, screaming and clawing at his mind until it’s all he can hear or see or think. He thinks he stumbles, almost falling back to the floor before it finally slips away, back to the miniscule buzz he’d been hoping was imaginary. Now he’s desperately grateful the buzz is all that’s left.

Panting, Otabek loosens the fist he’d formed around the pendant. Deep lines mark his palm, where his nails had dug into his skin, red and painful. The pendent lies there, peaceful, innocent. Otabek glares.

“What are you?” he mutters. What he’s feeling, it’s no result of any good luck charm. And if his memories are true, then it’s done so much more than scream in his mind.

If his memories are true…

The implications hit him in a glorious instant and he gasps. If the magic is real now, then the magic was real in his childhood. And if the magic was real in his childhood, then _so was Yuri_. His best friend Yuri, the mermaid he first summoned by accident and spent the rest of the summer perfecting how to summon on purpose. Yuri, who he’d promised to visit again the next summer and the next, forever, before the lessons of reality convinced him they were nothing but a dream.

Everything around Otabek fades as he imagines the betrayal his friend must have felt when he never returned. Yuri was so lonely, Otabek has learned over the weeks they spent together. Burdened by expectations the human boy couldn’t understand, straining to live up to impossible goals and yet furious at the limitations those goals forced upon them. Yuri didn’t reveal much about wherever they were from, but Otabek inferred that for all its wonders, the child had loved their visits to his world for the simple freedom they offered. And Otabek had disappeared, written it all off and gone on his merry way.

No. No he won’t let that be his legacy. Even as an adult Otabek doesn’t have many friends, and he’ll be damned if he lets the one that pushed him towards the rest of his life spend any more time thinking he didn’t care.

He’s at the seaside before he can recognize how ridiculous he’s being. Yuri always brought the spontaneity out in him, and Otabek giddily wonders if all his recent impulsive decisions have been to bring him back to this point. Anything is possible, he supposes, now that he can feel magic in his blood and his imaginary friend is (probably) real.

“Yuri!” he shouts as his bare feet touch the water. The sun is still high, turning the sea into a speckled tapestry of shining waves and deep cliffside shadows. When Otabek reaches the dimly lit rock shelf he once knew so well he stops. Closes his eyes. Focuses on the buzz in his mind, the warmth springing from the stone in his hand. It’s been years since he last did this, but the feeling is as natural as that of breathing.

 _‘Yuri Plisetsky_ ,’ he calls into the rush of his thoughts. ‘ _I’m sorry. If you can hear me, if you can feel me, please come. I need you.’_ Then he takes the force of energy furiously building in his body and pushes, sending it out into nothingness.

If everything is as it once was, if Otabek hasn’t gone completely crazy and created the past hour out of nothing, Yuri should feel the call. They’d described it once as if a hundred voices were whispering in their ears, distinct only if you listened and compelling only if you were willing (or inexperienced and caught off guard, as they’d begrudgingly admitted was the case for their first meeting).

The resulting emptiness is an old friend too, though it’s deeper and more tiring than he remembers it being. Otabek’s chest aches strangely and he leans forward, hand pressed to his heart. It’s like the energy he’d used has taken some of him with it, just enough to leave him shaken and confused. Is his memory so faulty as to have forgotten this part of the summoning? What could have changed that—

A splash. Otabek’s eyes fly open, but he doesn’t need sight to know what’s just happened. There’s only one person who’d greet him this way.

_“What the ever-loving shit Beka?!”_


	2. Chapter 2

Yuri has dealt with a lot of bullshit in their time. Moving to the royal palace after their cousin Victor, heir to the throne and all around pain in Yuri’s side, vanished with no more explanation than a rumour he’d fallen in love. Putting up with the constant pressure from Lilia to be graceful and soft, to hide their strength under layers of sweet diplomacy. The pitying whispers from every rumor loving idiot about their lack of a speciality, as if it’s Yuri’s fault their magic isn’t the powerful beacon everyone expected it to be.

But this, this is on a whole new level. They feel the tug in the middle of one of Yakov’s rants about responsibility and not yelling at everyone who pisses them off, and choke. The look on their face must be absurd because Yakov actually stops mid-sentence.

“Yuri, are you listening?” A bushy eyebrow lifts in time with another surge of magic.

Yuri shakes their head, considering. There's no way…but the feeling crawling up their bones is unmistakable. So they have a choice: stay, and get another lecture on rules they don’t care about and never will. Or follow the call, and get to face a ghost that’s haunted them almost as long as they can remember.

“Sorry old man.” The choice is effortless. This call is a challenge, something Yuri couldn't deny if they wanted to. They smirk up at Yakov and let their magic slip into the strands reaching out from the mortal realm. Yakov doesn’t have a moment to protest before they’re gone.

Yuri hasn’t been summoned in ages, not since the Imbalance became widespread and everyone realized the price of magic was growing too steep for frivolities (and summoning the weakling third in line to the throne would always be a frivolity). Even before then they’d disliked it, resentful of the memories the sensation pulled up. By all rights they should be angry now, feeling once more the call of someone who’d abandoned them. Instead all they can feel is growing excitement and anticipation. They’re crossing the border again.

They’re seeing Beka again.

The water of the mortal realm is just as they remembered, despite the time that’s passed. At home water is more of an idea than a substance, the magic that makes up the very essence of the place turning it into a force that can be manipulated at will. It’s why Yuri’s strongest affinity is with water when they’re home, even without the innate power of discovering their speciality. But here, the water is independant, volatile, stern. It listens to no one but itself and demands respect with every meeting. Yuri had never been able to understand Otabek’s easy interaction with the element, as if the boy knew how to whisper into its core and coax out cooperation.

Their head breaches the surface of the waves and Yuri recognizes the surrounding rocks and shadow with an aching desperation. It’s all still there. Fifteen years and nothing’s different.

Well, almost nothing. The human crouched at the edge of the water is eons from what Yuri remembers. Gone is the spindly little boy who once filled Yuri’s days with gap toothed grins and a listening ear. In his place is a man, dark and lean, eyebrows furrowed intensely as he presses a strong hand to his chest. Yuri can’t help but swim closer, drawn in by the changes in their friend.

Then Otabek’s eyes slip open and Yuri can’t help the words that leap from their mouth either.  _ “What the ever loving shit Beka?!” _

It’s a terrible greeting. Yuri knows this, and yet they can’t regret the idiocy; it means the first thing they hear from Otabek in fifteen long, lonely years is a deep, helpless laugh. The sound echoes off the cliffs and fills Yuri’s ears and eyes and heart until all they can do is float there, drinking it up. Otabek was never one to laugh easily and Yuri feels a heavy pride at drawing it out with their presence.

As Otabek finally calms Yuri also feels the hurt from their years apart flare back into existence. It almost steals the words from their mouth, but not quite. Yuri’s never let themself be driven into silence and they won’t let it happen now. They glare, about to start a tirade that’s been building for over a decade, when Otabek holds up a hand.

“Yuri.” Oh. Yuri shouldn’t be surprised, but Otabek’s voice has changed as well. It’s low, rich, easily confident. It’s also sad, and when Yuri meets their friend’s gaze they see a swirl of emotion brimming forth.

“Yuri,” Otabek repeats himself, and sits so his feet are submerged. He laughs, shaking his head as he says “you’re actually real.”

What?

“The hell are you on about?” Yuri demands. Most humans don’t know about the other realms, that’s basic fact, but Otabek was their friend. Doubting the existence of someone you’d seen with your own eyes, touched with your own skin, was just stupid.

“Everyone told me you were imaginary,” Otabek answers. His face turns away, staring at nothing. “They said I was lonely and made you up. After so long, I started to believe them.”

Yuri doesn’t know which is worse, the years spent thinking their first real friend abandoned them, or the knowledge that their friendship had meant so little it could be tossed away as imaginary. Their cheeks burn and they want to shout, to ask Otabek why he even summoned them, if he was only interested in breaking the little hope Yuri had left.

Then Otabek grins, his eyes light up, and it’s like the magic in Yuri’s core flaring to life. “But you’re here,” he says, oblivious to the fire in Yuri’s veins. “All along you were real and I left you and I’m so so sorry.”

Normally Yuri would discard the apology. Normally Yuri would demand a thousand offerings of regret before they were satisfied enough to even consider forgiveness. Now though, faced with that steadfast face and the memories of a boy they’d saved from drowning only to be kept afloat by him in turn, all they can think is, ‘ _ For you, anything. _ ’

Of course they don’t say that. Yuri hasn’t completely lost their mind, even if it feels as if the world, whichever one they’re in now, has been flipped on its head. They make do with a haughty sniff. “I suppose I might forgive you, if you explain where the hell you've been.”

Otabek's smile fades. “My grandmother…” He seems to shrink and Yuri swims a little closer, hands itching to touch, to soothe, to do  _ something _ .

“Did she find out? I know you never told her about us but I thought you said she'd probably believe you.”

“No.” Otabek shakes his head, droplets of water springing free from his hair. “Yuri, she died. Right after I left. And I couldn't…my family moved and I couldn't bear thinking about this place for a long time.”

Sorrow twists in Yuri's gut, unusual and uncomfortable. They don't regret much, but they remember Otabek's face when he talked about his grandmother, the love they could practically see binding the two. The potential of losing that is the reason Yuri keeps their heart so closed in the first place. If anything happened to their grandfather they don't know what they'd do.

“Scooch over.” Yuri's lifting himself onto the rock before Otabek can comply, struggling to arrange their tail on the cramped space. It's smaller than they remember and Otabek's side is still pressed against their tail after moving to the opposite corner. It's the first time they've touched in fifteen years and Yuri's heart thuds uncontrollably.

“I'm sorry,” they blurt out, trying to distract themself. They're not used to giving comfort and they're afraid it shows, a heated blush working its way down their chest.

Fortunately Otabek doesn't seem to mind Yuri's awkwardness. “Thanks,” he replies, patting their tail reassuringly (and oh, Yuri can feel their blush deepening every second his touch lingers). “It was so long ago, it's hard to believe this is the first time I've been back.”

Something in Otabek's voice catches Yuri's attention. “You've never visited?” Never returned in ignorance to the site of so much they'd held dear? Never looked at this inlet and decided trying to recall Yuri was too much bother?

“Not once. I only came now because—” Otabek cuts himself off, expression tightening. His hand stills on Yuri's tail and they think they can feel it trembling.

“Anyway,” he continues softly, “as soon as I realized there was a chance I hadn't made up that summer I came to find you. I had to apologise. I know we were just children but our time together gave me so much, and I paid you back by breaking my promise. I left you and I—”

“It's like you said,” Yuri interrupts. They'd been angry for so long, thought that rage would remain steadfast through this meeting, but now they just feel confused. The most important thing is that this new Otabek not be sad over something no one can fix. “We were kids. I'm not gonna blame you for something that happened over half my lifetime ago.”

“I guess you’ve grown up then,” Otabek says, his eyebrows raised teasingly. “Used to be you’d hound me for a week if I accidentally insulted your family.”

Yuri huffs. “That’s because you were an ignorant human who needed to learn his place.”

“Whatever you say Yuri.” Otabek lifts his hands in mock surrender, and for the first time since they arrived Yuri sees what he has dangling from his fist.

They freeze. What they’re seeing is ludicrous, yet as they frantically examine their memories the pieces somehow fit. How had they not realized? Years of panic and dismay blanketing their home and Yuri had known the solution all along?!

The pendant glows in their Sight, the sheen of ancient magic unmistakable. It’s stronger than it was the last time Yuri saw it, they can at least console themself with that. Strands of light pulse out from the stone and into Otabek’s hand, twisting up his arm and sinking into his skin. That too is new; Yuri is sure he hadn’t been bonded with the pendant before. If he had even the ignorance of childhood wouldn’t have kept them from noticing just how powerful it was.

“What’s wrong?” Otabek sounds as if he’s repeating the question. Yuri shakes their head, not sure if they can speak yet in the face of such a monumental discovery. The missing Focus, not a regular focus like they’d assumed. And it’s bonded with Otabek, which means he must be the missing Anchor.  _ Otabek _ . It’s enough to make anyone question the sanity of universe.

“Yuri I’m seriously getting worried, can you please just tell me if you need me to send you home?”

“No!” Yuri flies forward, wrapping their hands around the one holding the Focus. It flares, green light licking their hands, curious but not aggressive. They still, in case it decides their contact is unwarranted.

“This is getting very weird.” Otabek’s face is now a hand's width away from their own and Yuri hates their pale skin with a deadly passion as they feel it burning red again.

“I—you—” Yuri takes a deep breath, forcing down their raging and conflicting emotions. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

Otabek squints. “My grandmother’s good luck charm? The focus I use to, well, focus the magic I now have to deal with being a thing that exists? You know that Yuri, you were the one who told me what it was in the first place.”

Yuri tightens their grip. “You don’t understand,” they growl. “This isn’t any focus, it is one of  _ the  _ Focuses. It was lost when the last Anchor died without passing it on and you’ve had it all along and you’ve  _ bonded  _ with it which means you’re…”

“I can follow where you’re going and I don’t like the destination.” Otabek pulls his hand free and holds the Focus up to his face. Green tendrils pull away from Yuri’s hands, almost reluctantly, retreating back into the stone spinning slowly between the two. “What’s an Anchor?”

Everyone knows about the Anchors, but the more intricate details are taught to a select few—those interested enough in the mechanics of magic to seek out the knowledge, or those possessing enough magical potential that the knowledge is deemed necessary. Yuri is one of the latter, even if their potential bore only mild fruit.

“There are four points of connection between the mortal and fae realms,” Yuri begins, drawing on their vague memories of Lilia’s lecture on the subject. It all seems so obvious to them by this point they’re not sure where to begin. “These are where magic flows through as it’s refreshed. The balance between the realms relies on this journey, since it is only because of said refreshing that—”

“I’m sorry what are you talking about?” Otabek’s brows are furrowed and Yuri acutely wishes there was a way they could shove all of this  _ very important knowledge _ into their friend’s brain instead of having to explain. They’ve always been terrible at answering questions simply.

They try again, lifting their hands as pathetic visual aids. “My left hand is the fae realm, my right the mortal one. Normally there are four places where they touch.” They press their fingertips together. “They’re not physically places, just spots in the—the fabric of magic where it can be in both realms simultaneously. Are you with me?”

“For the time being.” Otabek leans back, resting most of his weight on a curl in Yuri’s tail. There’s a momentary pause as they fight to keep their train of thought.

“Yes, well, Anchors are the people most in tune with those spots. They power them, making sure magic has somewhere to flow toward. Without Anchors the spots would still exist, but magic would drift out of them into the space between the realms, draining away until there was nothing left. They’re vital, sacred.”

“What does this have to do with me, Yuri?” There’s no room for argument against that tone, and Yuri is reminded yet again of the years Otabek has experienced without them. When they last knew them their friend hadn’t mastered anything besides a challenging glare.

“Beka, if you’re not an Anchor I’ll move to this realm and grow feet.” Not that that’s at all impossible, but it gets the message across.

“Because of a rock?” The Focus is shoved in front of Yuri's face and shaken. “I’m sure anyone could use this!”

“No they couldn't.” Yuri steels themself, then snatches the loop of leather from Otabek's loosened grasp and brushes the blazing core with their magic. For a second the light envelops their fist again, but nothing else, and Yuri wonders if somehow they're completely wrong. Then pain shoots down their arm and tears into their head. It's blinding, overwhelming. Yuri endures it long enough for their ears to start ringing; even in a demonstration of unbeatable circumstances admitting defeat tears at them. When they finally drop the Focus they can taste blood on their teeth.

“It likes me,” they grin fiercely. Otabek sits motionless, pale and gaping. “If it didn't I might be dead.”

“I've been holding that?” He shuffles away from where the Focus lies innocently between them. “Why did it—why did you—”

“Because I'm not an Anchor. The power running through that thing is pure magic, attuned to one person and one person only. You.” Yuri slips a finger through the coiled leather and holds it out to the shaken human. “I'm not trying to use it now, so I'm fine. You, on the other hand, could tap into this no problem.”

“I'm not touching that,” Otabek growls, pressing harder against the rock and tail at his back. “I literally found out magic was real an hour ago, there's no way I'm this sacred Anchor bullshit.”

“Stop being a child,” Yuri snaps. They don’t have time to waste on denial. “Like it or not you  _ have  _ found out magic is real, again. Why is this any different?”

“Because...” Otabek groans, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t meet Yuri’s gaze when he continues. “This is all happening really fast alright? How do you even know for sure?”

Humans’ inability to perceive magic has always struck Yuri as an incredible waste. They spend so much time on fairytales and legends and myths, when if their eyes could only open they’d see the truth all around them. And it makes convincing them of the obvious inordinately difficult.

“I can see it. The power in that stone, the power in you, the way it’s bound together. I’ve spent almost the entirety of my life studying the different aspects of magic Beka—I’m sure.”

A series of expressions pass Otabek’s face that Yuri can’t decipher. They’ve never been good at the minutia of others’ emotions, but this is one of those rare times where that shortcoming feels like an true problem. If they could only tell what their friend was thinking they’d know how to move this along. Finally, face still inscrutable, Otabek sighs and takes the Focus from where it still hangs between them. The magic twists eagerly along his arm and sinks back beneath his skin.

Yuri fights back an unexpected surge of jealousy. They’d never imagined being an Anchor before, but now that they’ve tasted the power the appeal whispers. No more secret pity or disappointment. No more desperate searching for a rare and hidden speciality that would prove they were worthy of respect. If they were the new Anchor they’d be known as Yuri, the one who brought balance back to the realms. Not Yuri, the royal failure, the prodigy who’d ended up being less powerful than any average fae with access to a library.

Instead Otabek is the Anchor, an ignorant human who doesn’t even understand the magnitude of what he is. It takes all of Yuri’s will not to steal the Focus back, to tell Otabek they were wrong, that the power isn’t his after all. But it doesn’t work that way, and the idea of lying to their friend—however long they were apart, however bad Yuri is at being a friend—fills their chest with shame.

“What does this mean?” Otabek says into the long silence. “You say Anchors keep magic from draining away, but how? I haven’t done anything magical in fifteen years, I’m not exactly prepared for big league spellcasting. What do you expect from me?”

The fantasy of power drains away as Yuri remembers that, prepared or not, Otabek is needed  _ now _ . Every second they sit here talking is a second the Imbalance grows. Personal feelings are unimportant in the face of a crisis that’s been growing for years. They shove down the turmoil begging for release and grab Otabek’s bicep. The sensation of bare skin beneath their fingers sings and Yuri reflexively hardens their heart, eyes narrowing as they speak.

“You’re the missing Anchor Otabek. I expect you to save the world.”

* * *

Everything about this is ridiculous. Otabek is relatively sure a portion of his brain checked out the second Yuri arrived to scream into the void in his place. Because this should not be happening. Childhood memories of magic and mermaids springing to undeniable life is one thing, but being told he’s had the physical manifestation of a hole in the fabric of magical reality hidden away in his junk drawer? That he’s the only one who can use or guide its immense power? That his and its absence since it came into his possession has caused an Imbalance so severe he can hear the capitalization?

It’s almost enough to make Otabek wish he were back in Almaty, drowning in his own sorrow and imbalance. Almost, but not quite. Otabek can’t deny the small thrill that sparks every time Yuri calls him needed or important. Every time in the midst of their long, frustrated explanation that Yuri looks at him and smiles.

So Otabek is still a goner for Yuri’s attention. He’s not particularly surprised. He’d been too young when they first met to understand his fixation on his friend, and the years of denial over Yuri’s existence have dulled his memories, but seeing the child (no longer a child, now so much more) again reminds him of everything that summer had kindled. The cementing of a lifelong obsession with swimming was just one of them.

Still, Otabek doesn’t let himself dwell on the soft yearning in his chest. Long golden hair and a clever tongue just shy of being abrasive aren’t enough to distract from the monumental responsibility looming over him. ‘Save the world.’ Right.

“It’s imperative we start as quickly as possible,” Yuri is saying, expression as intense as it was when they started their rant however long ago. “Your absence was kept in check by the other Anchors for a few years, so much so that I doubt anyone except them even noticed, but things have been growing worse. The cost of using magic has begun affecting even those most closely connected to it; did you feel it? The drain when you summoned me?”

Otabek nods, remembering the emptiness that had grown inside him after casting the spell. Knowing that it was the hallmark of an issue with the greater world, one apparently only he can solve, is disconcerting.

“It’s because there’s not enough magic to go around. We’ve had to drastically cut down on frivolous spells back home, which I’m sure you can imagine caused a stir amongst the idle palace riffraff.” Yuri makes a face, no doubt imagining how they’d like to deal with those complaints. From the palace riffraff. Because Yuri lives in a palace now.

Yuri doesn’t strike Otabek as nobility. Which isn’t to say they aren’t regal or impressive, far from it. They speak with a surety that he thinks could only be grown from a life of authority and expectation, both from and on them. But there’s nothing soft about the will Otabek senses behind Yuri’s eyes, the clawing determination to succeed hidden beneath the surface of their skin. It calls to him like it did when they first met, kindred soul to kindred soul. They’re both used to fighting for every scrap, doing whatever it takes to climb to the top. All he can see when he looks at Yuri is a soldier, just as before.

“And I can fix this? How?” It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, too caught up in the tale of danger and duty Yuri’s been weaving. A small part of him had hoped if he’d stayed quiet, not acknowledged anything else thrust upon his shoulders, that it would all go away. No such luck.

A strange expression passes over Yuri’s face, one Otabek has to puzzle out as being uncertainty. They dither, pulling their tail up closer and running a hand along a deep splash of black. Eventually they break.

“I don’t know.”

“ _ Yuri _ .” All this talk of responsibility and need and Yuri can’t even tell him what he’s supposed to do?

“I know you can though!”

Otabek thinks Yuri’s trying to look sweet and amicable, but it mostly comes across as pained and slightly manic. He doesn’t reply, just crosses his arms and glares.

“Fine.” Yuri mirrors his position, the gesture somehow more pained than their smile. “I know who we have to talk to. He’s another Anchor. He’ll probably have some clue what to do, even if he is the newest besides you. And incompetent. And an asshole.”

“None of that sounds like a compelling recommendation I have to say. Can’t we go see one of the other two?”

Yuri sighs. “Anchors are notoriously reclusive, at least recently. And they historically keep most of the specifics to themselves, fear of power falling into the wrong hands and all that. If I’d been training longer I might know enough on my own but as things are…” Their casual shrug doesn’t disguise the frustration they feel at being in the dark. “I don’t even know the name of one of them, and the other moves around so much he’s impossible to track despite his obsession with oversharing. JJ likes the limelight though, so finding him is no trouble. Unfortunately.”

There’s no mention of the fourth Anchor, the one Otabek is replacing. He knows who it must have been, but putting into words the new loss he’s been stricken with, the teacher he should have had, is too much. He’s thankful Yuri’s pulled up what’s likely their last dregs of delicacy and is avoiding the subject as well.

“Are we going to see him now? Because if we stay here any longer it’s gonna start getting uncomfortable.” Otabek gestures to the sun, now orange on the horizon, and then to his bare chest. His skin is already prickling from the cool breeze rising off the water.

Yuri tracks the movement of Otabek’s hand, eyes going unfocused as he gestures to himself. There’s a long pause. “Yuri?”

“Yes!” Yuri snaps out of whatever the hell that was, red streaking down their cheeks. “You should get dressed. Warmly. With layers. JJ’s from a cold place you’ll definitely want a-a shirt.”

So they are leaving right away. Otabek should try to postpone—he’s an adult, has a life, he can’t go rushing off into the unknown without making a few preparations. He’d already tried that coming here, and looking back he can see so many ways that journey could have gone wrong. But really? It’s not as if he has any concrete plans. All he was going to do tonight was check if he had any chairs tall enough for him to reach the kitchen ceiling for another round of cleaning. Tomorrow would have been more of the same, and on and on into eternity. Whatever’s about to happen, it has to be better than the directionless monotony he’s found himself retreating into. And it’s not as if he has enough experience to rationally predict how to prepare for interdimensional travel if he were given a few days.

Fuck it.

“I’ll be back in half an hour,” he promises and starts back towards shore. He wonders what Yuri thinks, seeing the changes from the eager but inexperienced swimmer he once was. He wonders where they’re going or how they’re even getting there. He wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into. But Otabek is tired of second guessing everything, so he doesn’t let his questions stop him. He won’t run again.

It turns out packing for a mysterious journey to save the world doesn’t require much. Otabek throws a few changes of clothing in his bag, grabs his wallet on the off chance they’ll be anywhere that takes credit cards, and remembers to grab his phone and earbuds right as he’s leaving the house. Aisha’s calls have slowed tremendously, but he gets the feeling he might not be back for a while. If he ends up somewhere with cell service he’ll need to remember to keep her as up to date as possible. If she thinks he’s died she’ll probably kill him.

Yuri’s on the shore when Otabek drives up, carving a series of symbols out with their hands. They don’t look as uncomfortable as he’d expect, sprawled across the sand with only the fin at the end of their tail in the water. Yuri’d explained before that they don’t actually need to be in the water, that it simply helps with mobility, but there’s still something wrong about the image. There's none of their usual grace, even the casual kind they exhibit when curled up on Otabek's usual rock shelf.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Otabek says as he approaches. Yuri looks up and grins.

“Me neither. Yakov and Lilia are probably out of their minds trying to figure out where I am. It’ll take them ages to trace the path to this realm and by then…” They point at the symbols and their grin widens. It strikes Otabek that if what Yuri’s told him about their life as semi-nobility is true, then they likely haven’t had much chance to enjoy themself in a long while. Well, he’s sure Yuri’s found many ways to entertain themself no matter what rules are thrown their way, but this is different than any small rebellion. This is, he realizes, a rare opportunity for Yuri to be free.

It sweeps away any lingering doubts about following through. He won’t send Yuri home yet, not when the excitement building on their face is finally reaching what he remembers from childhood. No matter what awaits him at the end of this journey, Otabek wouldn’t take that away from Yuri for anything.

“Alright.” Yuri claps their hands, shaking off the last of the sand. “Normally one person creates and powers a spell, but since I have all the knowledge and you’re a literal power sink I think we can make an exception. I'll provide the direction, so just focus your magic on the symbols.”

Otabek readjusts his bag, pulling the strap over his shoulder tighter, and fingers the stone hanging from his neck. The Focus is quiet, dormant, but he thinks he can feel a tiny thrum resonating with the ever present buzz in his mind. It's retreated enough that Otabek hardly notices it, the sensation only prominent when he reaches for it. He does so now.

The process is different, now that he's not using sheer will to shape the spell. Otabek can sense a structure in the space before him, his magic eager to bend to the correct shape. It's so heady he almost doesn't want to stop. Would it be so bad to lose himself in this feeling of power and ease?

“Beka!”

Otebek’s eyes snap open and he gapes. The symbols Yuri drew are gone. In their place is a swirling funnel, taller than him, wind and sand lit up from within by an otherworldly green. Even though it's close enough to touch the air around Otabek is still.

“What now?” he asks slowly. He can feel magic draining from his chest every second.

“Now we jump.” Yuri's voice is breathless, already levering themself up to get closer. They close their eyes and Otabek can feel  _ something _ brush against the magic he's pouring into the spell. He thinks he should be at least a little uncomfortable, but the touch is anything but unpleasant. It's Yuri, condensed into pure feeling.

Then it's gone, as Yuri is enveloped by that same green light and vanishes. Panic sparks instinctually in Otabek and he can sense the spell weaken. Before it can deteriorate further he reaches out as well, trying to touch that same well of power Yuri did. Light floods his vision as he does, a tug at his core beckoning him forward. He leaps.

Sand falls heavily to the ground, returning to it's usual mortal habit of stationary rest. The wind calms, a slow sea breeze all that remains of the contained tempest.

The beach sits, empty and still.


	3. Chapter 3

Otabek doesn't know how long he stays on his knees, gasping for air. His chest burns, aches, screams from the emptiness swelling inside. He keeps himself from retching but it's a close thing. If this is what major magic feels like now, Otabek can see why Yuri and their people have cut back.

When he manages to look up his heart threatens to stop for a completely different reason.

There are pine trees, everywhere, towering so high above him their tops can't be seen, lost in shadow as they block out the sky. The color of their needles is deep yet indescribable, as if someone had taken the essence of every facet of green and distilled it into one shade. The scent is overwhelming, pure and crisp and so undeniably alien Otabek can hardly breathe.

A cool breeze brushes by, the damp chill jarring after the heat of a Kazakhstan summer, and Otabek struggles to his feet. He grabs a nearby branch for support and shivers at the spark that runs along his skin from the contact. If he'd had any doubts about where Yuri was from they'd have vanished now. There's nothing human about this place; even without the ability to see magic Otabek can practically feel it in the air all around.

“That's better,” Otabek hears behind him, and he turns to see Yuri walking through the small clearing towards him, arms stretched leisurely above them.

Walking…?

“Yuri why do you have legs?” This day has already been filled with too many shocks and Otabek isn't sure he can take any more. “Please, small words.”

Yuri snorts, continuing forward to lean on the massive trunk beside Otabek. In this form they're in fact taller than him, their limbs long, lean, and hinting at contained strength. Their hair is still unbound, tumbling to the small of their back in shimmering waves, but now a golden circlet holds it back from their eyes. And they have clothes now, form fitting fabric the same color as their scales, red twisting across endless black in untraceable patterns. It's a striking sight and Otabek can't help the little part of him that sighs over how unattainably beautiful his friend has become.

“You can stop staring now Beka,” Yuri reprimands, but Otabek can see a gleam of unaccustomed pride in their smirk. “With the right spellwork I can alter my form, it's no big deal.”

“Then why didn't you earlier? If you'd been able to go on land we could have gone and done so many cool things when we were children.” Not that Otabek hadn't loved getting to swim with an real life mermaid and spending hours by the water, playing with a child just as lonely as he was. But it would have been nice to know other options were available.

“I know it seems like I sprang into existence knowing all the world's secrets, but sadly that's not the case.” Yuri straightens, peering through the thick tree cover as they speak. “Shapeshifting is a difficult spell if you don't inherently have the ability. I didn't learn it until years after we met. Besides, it requires more energy than I'm comfortable using in your world; better to do it here where there's more magic available.”

As Yuri finishes an eerie howl echoes from within the forest. They grimace. “He's here. Must have sensed the spell and come running to see if it was more of his fans.”

The howl doesn't repeat, but in its place soon comes a loud rustling, growing in volume every second. Otabek surreptitiously places his back to a tree trunk. “Um, Yuri? What exactly is JJ?”

“Just a shapeshifter,” they reply, as an enormous wolf hurls itself into the clearing.

Otabek's seen wolves before. As a teenager he went through one of those embarrassing phases where he was obsessed with all the 'dangerous’ animals, wolves included. This thing is easily bigger than any wolf he's even imagined. It's head is almost level with his own, bright blue eyes shining with a human—well,  _ inhuman  _ intelligence. The beast prowls closer, all rippling muscle and bristling fur and a heavy aura of power, ignoring Otabek in favor of nosing insistently at Yuri.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Yuri growls. They shove the wolf's head, fingers edging uncomfortably close to the mouth of pointed teeth, and back up closer to Otabek.

“But Yura!” In the blink of an eye, faster than Otabek would have thought possible, the wolf is gone. In its place is a man, arms spread wide, face comically disappointed. His eyes though, are no different. They shine just as brightly, and Otabek wonders which of the two forms, if either, is JJ's true one. “I haven't seen you in ages, aren't I allowed a hug?”

“You're allowed a hard kick between the legs if you call me Yura again.”

“Ooooh.” JJ winces exaggeratedly. “Guess not then.”

Otabek shifts, uncertain if he should speak up or let whatever clearly long running conflict Yuri's brought him into continue. JJ's eyes flick to his, and for a moment that same insincere smile starts to form. Then he freezes, all humor draining from his expression.

“Yuri,” he whispers. “Is that…?”

“You think I'd come here if it wasn't important?” Yuri grips Otabek's shoulder, squeezing. “I found him, now what needs to be done?”

“Incredible,” JJ breathes, marching closer as he peers at Otabek. He makes a quick gesture and Otabek feels the stone laying against his chest throb.

“Hey,” he warns, cupping it automatically. “What are you doing?”

JJ steadily ignores them, head tilting back and forth as he examines Otabek. It makes him feel like a piece of art on display, or livestock about to be sold. He glares.

“I said, what are you doing?”

“How much training have you had?” JJ asks, suddenly looking Otabek in the eyes for the first time. “Not much, obviously, you're leaking magic like a sieve. Did Galina teach you the basics or are we starting from scratch?”

Otabek flinches at his grandmother's name. He'd known the previous Anchor must have been her, too much didn't make sense if it wasn't, but hearing it confirmed sends a wave of sorrow through him. “She didn't teach me anything,” he manages. “She died before she had the chance. But I’m not an idiot, I know a little.”

“That remains to be seen.” JJ's face hardens. “Is that how you slipped beneath our radar for fifteen years? You do understand the trouble your absence has caused.”

“He didn't know!” Yuri snaps. They step forward, half their body between Otabek and JJ. “He only found out what he was today, so how about you stop your stalling and tell us how to fix this already.”

“So protective,” JJ purrs. “I don't think I've seen you this excited about anyone but yourself in years. Finally trying out the softer emotions, mon petit chaton?”

“ _ That's it _ .” There’s a hum in the air as Yuri steps completely in front of Otabek, fists clenched. From this close he can tell that Yuri is shaking. “Training him is in your best interests too, asshole, so either tell us what to do or I’ll beat the answer out of you.”

“Cute.” There’s a flash of white and Yuri is on the ground a few feet away, coughing. A trail of red drips from their mouth. “But I’ll have to decline. I already know your skills Yura, and they won’t best me. You on the other hand…” JJ looks back to Otabek. “Are you brave enough to take me on too, little human?”

For a moment all Otabek can do is stare unbelievingly at his friend, laid out on the forest floor like a discarded toy. Is this normal? Are all fae as violent and volatile as this? He looks back at JJ and feels horribly, terrifyingly out of his depth. Before he can try edging closer to Yuri, to run or fight or negotiate he doesn’t know, JJ’s snapped his fingers. A white flare blinds Otabek for a few crucial seconds, and when it clears it’s to reveal a translucent dome covering almost the entire clearing. Inside, Otabek and JJ. Outside, Yuri, angrily spitting a wad of blood.

“Aren’t you supposed to be our ally?” Otabek asks, desperately hoping he can forestall what’s about to happen. Is he really expected to fight an immensely powerful shapeshifter, on their home turf, without having been taught how his magic even works? He’s not an idiot, he can see how that will end. “Aren’t you supposed to help me fix…everything?”

“Eventually,” JJ says, stretching his arms above his head. “Maybe. But first I want you to hit me. Once, if you’re capable. Prove you’re even worth being Galina’s successor.”

“I don’t—” Otabek tries, then jerks to the side as JJ charges, light flickering around his form. In an instant the man is gone, but the wolf hasn’t returned. Instead the creature that smoothly springs off of the wall Otabek had been in front of is feline, fur an ashen grey and covered in black spots. It’s tufted ears and stubby tail twitch as it slinks forward. The whiskered face easily reaches Otabek’s waist and he gets the impression this form too is an oversized version of the original animal.

Otabek’s heart hammers incessantly as JJ approaches. He’s no stranger to fear—fear of failure, fear of the future, fear of the unknown. Every action he’s taken since his injury has been laced with terror over where he could possibly go next. The battle to do what must be done despite that fear is becoming an old friend, something that’s haunted Otabek in his journey through this new portion of his life. And yet this fear is different. The emotion hurtling through Otabek’s body now is the visceral, instinctive need to escape impending doom. Every muscle screams for him to run, beg, delay the inevitable by any trick or scheme he can imagine.

Otabek stands his ground. He’s tired of running, tired of being afraid. JJ might be strong but so is the ‘little human’ facing him. It’s time to show that.

“If you step any closer you won’t like what happens,” he warns. It’s a baseless threat, he knows it, but he squares his shoulders all the same. The cat pauses, head tilted consideringly. Through the wall Otabek can see Yuri thrust a hand covered in pale flames at the barrier, then soundlessly shout as it has no effect.

An idea begins to twist into existence, but before Otabek can catch it JJ grins, two white fangs peeking out from behind black lips. Otabek barely has time to throw himself to the ground before a blur of fur whistles through the air above him. He scrambles upright and dodges as JJ leaps again, one clawed foot sinking into his shoulder ( _ his injured shoulder _ ) instead of all four on his chest.

Otabek screams at the pain ripping through muscles already achingly used to it. He’s on his knees without realizing, blood dripping from between the fingers of the hand clutched instinctively against the wound. “You son of a bitch!” he shouts. Through his tears he can see JJ on the other side of the clearing, tail lashing as he crouches once more.

The fear is back, stronger than ever, but Otabek crushes it beneath a metaphorical foot. He’s not fast enough to escape JJ, not skilled enough to beat him one on one, but he doesn’t need to. ‘ _ I just have to hit him once. _ ’

JJ pounces. Otabek closes his eyes, lifts his bloody hand, and concentrates every speck of energy from him and his Focus outward. Heat encases his hand and a screeching yowl echoes through the dome. There are no claws in his skin, no new blood pouring from his body, and when Otabek opens his eyes the first thing he sees is fire, spurting from his palm in long tongues of red and orange.

“You should really put that out before you waste any more energy.”

Less than an arm’s length to his left sits JJ, out of cat form and patting his singed hair forlornly. He shrugs and makes a scooping motion. “Brute force is well and good for the short term, but you’re gonna feel like you fell off a cliff in about ten minutes if you don’t reign things in.”

Otabek blinks, trying to extinguish the flames as opposed to figuring out where the aggressive JJ of a few moments ago went. Nothing happens. The spell, if the wall of intent he shoved out can even be called that, feels more distant than the ones he did in the sea with Yuri, harder to catch or control. He can sense the emptiness borne from using magic flaring up and tries again. The stream of magic slows, then finally extinguishes, leaving behind another pit in his core. He brings his hand back up to his shoulder and scowls at JJ.

“You really don’t know anything,” the man marvels, seemingly immune to dirty looks. He sighs. “I guess you should be congratulated then, for even pulling that off, but it means there’s so much work to be done.”

“You...what…” Otabek shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. “What the hell was all that about?”

“Courage.” JJ holds out his wrist, revealing a intricately carved leather bracelet inlaid with a single reddish-brown stone, smaller than a fingernail. It looks too plain to be part of such a decorated piece, but Otabek can suddenly feel the same power in it that he knows from his own Focus. “That’s what it values, what you needed to show it before we could go further.”

“And that required you attacking me?” Otabek hisses as his wound bursts with pain again. JJ rolls his eyes, fingers sketching more symbols in the air that Otabek can’t trace. He finishes with a flourish and light shines out from under Otabek’s hand. When he raises it the blood and tears in his shirt remain, but the injury itself has vanished.

“You’re welcome,” JJ says. “And hey, it was short notice. If I’d had some forewarning you were coming I could have thought up something less…brutal, but direct is my forte and we’re pressed for time. I’d never have done any real damage, you just had to believe I would.”

The ground rumbles beneath them  as JJ finishes and both men look over towards Yuri, still on the other side of the barrier. They’re crouching, fingers pressed into the earth, and as they frown another tremor occurs. The barrier flickers.

“Well that’s not good.” JJ gets to his feet, casually brushing dirt from his palms. “They’re gonna wear themself out if they keep that up. Or attract something’s attention, which none of us want, trust me.”

Otabek hurriedly follows JJ, unable to keep himself from favoring his shoulder as he does so. The wound might be gone, but the memory of its pain is fresh and vivid. He wonders if JJ understands what injury means to people who can’t heal on command.

“Then why don’t you take it down, let them in?”

JJ laughs. “I probably should, shouldn’t I? But I’m afraid dear Yura might actually try to kill me if I let them get close enough. They won’t be able to, of course, but I’d rather not have to shove in their face how poorly they measure up.”

Frustration sparks in Otabek. “Why do you keep saying that? Yuri figured out I’m an Anchor, they convinced me to come here, they’re chipping away at that fucking wall right now. What about that is weak?”

“Knowledge is different than power, unfortunately.” JJ looks genuinely sad as he shakes his head. “And that little ball of fury over there has very little of the latter. Potential, sure, but without a speciality it’s all for naught.”

“A what?” The way JJ says the word it sounds important, but Otabek doesn’t think he can remember Yuri ever mentioning it, not even when they were children.

“I keep forgetting how ignorant you are,” JJ chuckles, ignoring Otabek’s bristling. “Everyone has a type of magic they inherently connect with, a power they can understand and access without effort. Discovering this speciality gives you something to base the rest of your spells on and improves your power overall. It’s the first thing you focus on when learning magic, if it isn’t obvious from the start.”

Otabek thinks back to the way he’d had to reach for his power when summoning the flames, so different from how he normally feels. The peace that fills him when he’s in water makes him smile even now and he says, “I think I already know mine.”

“Do you?” JJ looks surprised. “That cuts out a fair amount of starting effort; maybe you’re not as useless as I thought.”

Before Otabek can tell JJ where he can shove his insults the man claps. “Anyway! I’ve done my part, time to send you on to Phichit. I think you’ll enjoy him a lot more, and he’ll probably be better at the whole teaching thing when you get around to it. More patience.”

JJ starts sketching another series of symbols, dancing fingers now leaving behind faint trails of light. Behind him, Yuri, who must have noticed JJ and Otabek conversing after their tremors had little effect and settled in to glower at the two instead, perks up.

“I’m not totally sure where he is,” JJ continues, “but this should land you right by him. He’ll know who you are right off so just do what he says. Unless he starts talking about the importance of record keeping and personal image, then tell him to get over himself.”

He ends with a flourish, one long finger pointed dramatically at the ground. The lights he'd conjured shimmer and flash, and before Otabek's eyes an archway of pure white light forms. It's just high enough for him to walk through without ducking his head, but what's on the other side he can't tell; the space between the arch is filled by a swirling mass of color, almost too bright to look at.

“Hey Yuri!”

Yuri scrambles to their feet as the wall drops, face already screwed up in preparation for Otabek doesn't know what—probably a spell, potentially the simple catharsis of a screaming fit. They're striding forward when Otabek feels a hand on his back.

“Good luck kid.”

Otabek briefly hears Yuri's shout of fury before he's stumbled completely through the archway and landed, face first and gasping for breath once more, on the other side.

* * *

They're going to kill him. They're going to tie him up and throw him into a volcano. They're going to find one of the dangerous beasts that wander this blighted forest and feed him to it. They're going to drag him beneath the waves of home and look him in the eyes as he drowns, slowly.

“This portal's gonna close in a few more seconds,” JJ, the  _ bastard _ , smirks as Yuri snarls at him. “Are you going to leave your boy all alone?”

“He's not my…aaaargh!” The urge to tear into JJ is overwhelming, but Otabek is already gone. They can't abandon him to wherever JJ thought it would be funny to dump a helpless human. He’s their responsibility; even more importantly, he's their friend. He's Otabek, and through the haze of rage Yuri recognizes that nothing ranks higher than keeping him safe.

“The next time I see you you're losing a limb,” Yuri warns, and sprints through the archway into the unknown.

Heat. Blistering, suffocating heat. Yuri's skin itches beneath their clothes, screaming to be set free after mere seconds away from JJ’s cool forest. They look up from their hastily landed crouch and have to squint against the burning sun, set in a cloudless blue. Around them endless sand stretches to the horizon, the air so still not a single grain lifts to irritate their face. They’re still in the fae realm, Yuri can see the magic that makes up reality here twisting through the sand and sky, but apart from that they’re at a loss. This is a part of the world they’ve never been to, perhaps never even heard of. And if they’re out of their depth there’s no telling what kind of danger Otabek could be getting into, even in the scant minute it took Yuri to follow.

A hum behind them makes Yuri whirl, just in time to dodge a slim brown bag as it falls from the shimmering portal they’d come here through. The second it thuds into the ground the portal closes, collapsing into itself until the tiny white orb that remains vanishes into nothingness. It’s Otabek’s bag, Yuri realizes, dropped in the shock of JJ’s initial appearance. For some reason the asshole must have decided to be considerate and thrown in it after them. They haul it up over their shoulder and continue to seethe.

Otabek should be nearby. He hadn’t reacted well to his first trip through a portal, clearly shaky and weak for a few minutes afterwards, so logically his reaction should have been the same this time. By all rights Yuri should have landed right next to him.

“Otabek!”

Their shout falls flatly on the emptiness. No response. The sand lies as quiet as it did when they arrived, totally open and completely barren. There’s no place for someone to hide, and yet Yuri is alone.

“Fuck!”

Yuri presses their palms to their forehead, grimacing at the sheen of sweat already collecting on their skin. They have to think, but fear is tearing at their composure. There are so many ways Otabek could be hurt. A hidden sinkhole could have swallowed him up, leaving him to suffocate beneath piles of sand. JJ could have miscalculated, his spell sending him someplace completely different from this desert. Bile rises in Yuri’s throat at a memory from Yakov’s lessons on the dangers of transport spells—sometimes, if the caster is careless enough, a traveller can get lost between doors, trapped for eternity in magical oblivion.

“ _ Otabek! _ ” they cry again, panic making their voice crack. They can’t lose him. He’s their first friend, their only friend, the strange human boy who unwittingly gave them the strength to persevere when everything they thought their life would be came crashing down. To lose him mere hours after they got him back is unthinkable, unbearable.

Yuri collapses to their knees, fingers frantically digging symbols into the sand. They might not have much power, but with a bag full of Otabek’s belongings even they can cast a locating spell. It should at least give them an idea of how close he is, or if…if he’s still alive. Tears threaten Yuri’s sight at the thought but they furiously blink them away. There’s no reason to become a pathetic weeping mess, because Otabek is  _ fine _ .

In fact, the spell whispers after Yuri places the bag at the center of the symbols, Otabek is right in front of them.

The desert is as empty as ever, not a single variation in the landscape no matter how hard Yuri peers. Are they truly so weak that a simple location spell can twist itself into a false positive? They leap up, disappointment and obstinance and chilling fear fueling them as they stride towards where their stupid spell insists their friend is. A faint chill is all the warning they get before they’re slamming face first into nothing at all.

“Motherfuck!” Yuri stumbles back, clutching their nose as pain bursts across their face. It takes all their self-control not to scream in frustration at yet another roadblock, let alone the abrupt mauling of their _ fucking nose _ .

Then the implications of an invisible something hit Yuri and they’re rushing forward, hands carefully outstretched to reach whatever it is first. Their brushing fingers reveal a rough surface, broad and unnaturally flat, and yet their Sight shows nothing, not a shimmer of spellwork. Yuri grins despite the blood dripping from their nose. This is a wall, intentionally hidden from magic users, and Otabek is on the other side of it.

“Alright wall,” they mutter, wiping up the blood smearing their face and smudging it on the wall. It vanishes as their hand lifts but that doesn’t matter. Presence is all that’s needed for this. “Let’s see how you like me now.”

Yuri places their hands over the hidden spot of blood and focuses every thought in their head on the idea of fractured stone. They shove, energy flowing from their palms into the invisible barrier. Eventually, just as Yuri’s beginning to feel lightheaded, a hefty crack booms into existence. Whatever spell was keeping the structure unseen is dispelled around the break as well, and Yuri finds themself looking through a hole into what seems to be an eating area. Across the room is Otabek, leaning awkwardly against another wall, jaw growing slack as the dust settles.

“Beka, you’re alive!” Yuri’s climbing into the building without a second thought, uncaring of the tears in their clothes and skin from the jagged opening. They’re at Otabek’s side in moments, about to start checking him for any further injuries he may have gotten after his fight with JJ (or maybe hug him vehemently, they’re not certain), when a warm chuckle reaches their ears.

“Holy crap, that’s going in my top ten favorite ways someone’s broken into one of my houses for sure. What an entrance!”

Yuri spins to face the speaker, fists raised in preparation to beat back whoever thinks they can kidnap their friend and then  _ laugh  _ about it. A spell of warding is on their lips when they recognize the dark-skinned man sitting cross-legged on a massive red and gold cushion.

“Oh…Phichit,” they splutter. Anything else they have to say is lost in waves of embarrassment and confusion. Their panic of the last few minutes seems like a drastic overreaction now that Otabek’s been found in the presence of yet another Anchor, whose appearance throws JJ’s previously clear motivations of being an enormous dick into question.

“Hey Yuri,” Phichit waves cheerfully, apparently unperturbed by the new window in his house. “Otabek mentioned you’d been with him, but I didn’t notice you were outside or I totally would have let you in too. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine?” The reassurance comes out more like a question, but Yuri decides they have bigger things to worry about. For instance, what they’re doing here at all.

“Great!” Phichit beams, then beckons Yuri over to sit beside him. “You don’t look so good, want me to patch you up? Blood magic works in a pinch but it doesn’t make you look very pretty.”

“Blood magic is a thing now too?” Otabek asks weakly. He stands up from the wall, one hand pressing on Yuri’s shoulder. Yuri’s heart calms at the contact, and they aren’t sure whether or not to hope Otabek needs the reassurance as much as they do. “This is beginning to get extreme.”

“You could handle other worlds and shapeshifting magical beings, but blood magic is where you draw the line? How does that make sense?”

Otabek lifts an eyebrow. “Lines are important, Yuri. Where they are doesn’t matter as long as you stick to them. It’s the principle of the thing.”

Yuri doesn’t get the chance to ask Otabek what the hell that even means (they have a nagging suspicion he’s trying to bullshit them); instead Phichit whistles dramatically, drawing back both of their attentions.

“Alright kiddos, you two are great and I’m always happy to have guests, but I’m a little busy at the moment so if we could maybe get started on this whole ‘bringing balance to the Force’ thing?”

“What does that…nevermind.” Yuri doesn’t want to know what strange, likely human trend Phichit is blabbing about. He’d once spent an entire week of one of his visits to the palace asking Yuri to dress up as someone called Ariel so he could record the illusion, and they’ve since deliberately refused to learn any of his references out of spite.

“If you’re going to fight me too, I’d like to request I get to rest first.” Otabek sighs. “It’s been a really long day.”

“Why would I fight you?” Phichit’s voice is genuinely concerned. He frowns and starts rising from the cushion, then plops back down with a groan. “Is that what JJ did? I get you needed to show him courage but that’s a little overboard. You could have jumped off a cliff or eaten at a really sketchy restaurant, that’s plenty brave.”

“Otabek needed to do what now?” For once Otabek seems less confused than they are, and Yuri’s getting the feeling that post-fight conversation they saw through JJ’s barrier may have been more than JJ taking a chance to boast.

“Show courage.” Phichit hums a series of tones, summoning an image of a monstrous reptilian creature, snarling at nothing. “That’s what I had to face and let me tell you, I wasn’t sure I would make it. Bullheaded bravery is not my strong suit, as it turns out.”

“So what is?” Otabek asks. He’s standing upright now, arms crossed against his chest. “I assume you’re going to make me prove something to you as well.”

“That is how this works,” Phichit agrees. He hums the creature away and shrugs. “Wisdom, technically. I’ve never been sold on how that pertains to me exactly, but it’s what this beauty wants and who am I to disagree?”

He flicks one of his heavy, dangling earrings as he speaks, and Yuri sees the telltale blaze of power from the greenish-grey bottom stone. They’ll never understand the obsession Anchors seem to have with turning their Focuses into ornate jewelry. Just keep it on a chain and be done with it, like Otabek with his pendant. Hopefully he doesn’t become influenced by their weirdness and turn it into a gaudy choker or something else excessive when this is over.

“Are you saying your Focus wants Otabek to prove himself to it? Is that part of what’s needed to become an Anchor?” That would explain why JJ sent them here, instead of helping Otabek learn his powers himself from the start.

“Got it in one!” Phichit throws them a wink and Yuri doesn’t know whether to feel flattered or uncomfortable. “Once you’ve got the basics down being an Anchor is mostly done by feel, but you gotta form that foundation first. Your relationship with your own Focus is, of course, the most important, but the rest of them are weirdly insistent on approving anyone new as well. Hence all of this.”

“You talk about them as if they’re alive.” Otabek already sounds resigned, like he knows the answer he’s about to get will add yet another layer of surreal to his world.

“In a sense, they are.” There’s a pause as Phichit chews his lip, searching for the right words. “Any magic user can use a focus, and most of them will have personal quirks—it’s a result of concentrated magic, it can’t be helped. But our Focuses are different. They have a purpose, have had one for so long and have been exposed to so much magic in that time that they’ve formed opinions, among other things. You’ll get better at reading yours the longer you have it.”

Otabek gently tugs on his own Focus and frowns thoughtfully. “How am I supposed to prove to yours that I’m wise? I doubt reciting my times tables will be enough.”

“That’s intelligence, dear Padawan, not wisdom. Different stats.” Phichit grins to himself, then continues. “No, this type of wisdom is more, internal I guess is the term? You gotta show you have knowledge of yourself. What that means specifically depends entirely on you.”

Smoothly, the longheld uncomfortable position seeming to have no effect on him, Phichit stands. “Like I said, I’ve got some stuff going on right now so I’ll leave you to think? Call for me when you’re ready and we’ll see how you do.”

He passes by the gap Yuri created on his way out of the room and throws another wink their way. “Gotta say I like your style. It’s direct. Can’t wait to see what you get up to once you sort out that speciality snafu.” A few whistled notes has the hole covered by a large embroidered tapestry, and then he’s gone.

Exhaustion hits Yuri like another wall to the face and they wander over to stretch out across Phichit’s cushion. Everything hurts. They haven’t gone bipedal in ages and they’ve never cast so many spells while maintaining the transformation. Honestly they’re surprised they didn’t burn themself out from the magic they expended trying to break JJ’s barrier, let alone breaking in here. The waste of energy was stupid, but faced with losing Otabek, with being forced to watch him get torn to shreds by a presumed ally, there’d been no other option.

“Are you alright?”

Yuri’s eyes fly open to see Otabek crouched down beside them. His fingers float uncertainly between them and he gestures at Yuri’s face.

“Oh, that.” Yuri hadn’t forgotten the pain shooting out from their nose, but they had forgotten that Otabek would likely worry about the remaining blood smeared across their upper lip. “I probably should have taken Phichit’s offer to heal it but I’ll be fine. You can relax.”

“Maybe I could try?”

Otabek looks uncertain and Yuri laughs. “No offense Beka but there are some things you can’t replace knowledge with power on; healing is one of them. Try again when you’ve had some training and I’ll let you mess with my body.”

The possible interpretations of that offer threaten to turn Yuri a bright red as they dawn on them, but luckily Otabek’s already turned away to stare mournfully at the floor. “You’re probably right. Hey, do you think that counts as self-aware enough?”

“I doubt it.” Yuri’s not a fan of self-reflection, but they’re pretty sure it involves more than backing down from a spell you’re clearly too inexperienced to get right. “Is there anything you want to talk about? I bet resolving an issue you’re facing would count.”

“Well now it’s obvious you haven’t spent time with me in a while,” Otabek chuckles. “My whole family says I’m the worst at talking about my feelings.”

“So what?” Yuri says, ignoring the stinging reminder of how much time with Otabek they’ve missed. “I’m not family, maybe you’ll be able to tell me? And then Phichit and his weird judgemental stone.”

Instead of answering Otabek grabs his bag from where Yuri dropped it as they fell onto their back and fiddles with the straps, loosening and tightening them for a few minutes. Yuri keeps their mouth shut and watches. Eventually, eyes still glued to his bag, Otabek speaks.

“I used to be a swimmer.”

This isn’t news; considering how they met Yuri has trouble imagining Otabek doing anything else. But, ‘used to be’. “You stopped?”

“I had to quit.” Otabek’s jaw clenches ever so slightly. “I was stupid and careless and injured myself, the kind of injury you never get back to full strength from. So I retired, and lost everything I’ve been working for since I hit double digits. My job, my dream, my life—gone.”

‘ _ Fix this _ ,’ a voice in Yuri’s head demands. ‘ _ You made him bring this up, so don’t let him look that sad another second, what kind of friend are you? _ ’

“You’ve never wanted anything else?” they ask. “No other goals to fall back on?” They understand the pain that comes with losing something due to your own failings that you’d poured yourself into for years. If this blow is fresh, as Otabek seems to be suggesting, Yuri can only hope he deals with it better than they did.

He shrugs. “I like music? I like my bike. Truthfully, as overwhelming and taxing as this whole Anchor business has been, it’s given me more sense of purpose in a day than I’ve felt in months. Maybe ever.”

Yuri can’t decide if that’s encouraging or sad. A purpose is good, but throwing oneself into a responsibility you’ve only just heard of stinks of desperation. They don’t want Otabek doing this if he’ll come to regret it when he’s gotten a better handle on his life. It dawns on Yuri that, if years down the line their friend were to walk away, wash his hands of everything fae and magic related and claim it was for his own well-being? They probably wouldn’t be able to say no, even at the cost of another Imbalance.

It’s ridiculously out of character. Yuri doesn’t do altruism; fighting back against the things that inconvenience them is sort of their trademark. And letting Otabek walk away would be more than an inconvenience. Forget the rest of the world and its need for him to stay an Anchor; losing this human would be a devastating blow to to Yuri’s already decidedly shaky personal life. They can’t afford anyone else leaving them. Yet they know, easily as they can identify one of Mila’s moods from a twitch in her eyebrow, that they would power through the loss if it meant Otabek could be happy.

“You’re not regretting it then?” Yuri blurts, determined to move away from that line of thought. “Like you said this has all been a lot to deal with.”

Otabek tears his gaze from his bag and grins helplessly down at Yuri. “Is it crazy to say I don’t? Sure, everything about this is nuts, but it’s also so incredible. I’m in another world. Today I fought off a shapeshifter by setting my hand on fire. I’ve reconnected with one of my best friends, who happens to be a mermaid, and discovered everything they once taught me about magic is real. When balanced against that, what’s a little weirdness and responsibility?”

“That’s, surprisingly healthy.”

A laugh. “My family also says I’m stupidly well-adjusted. I don’t think they can handle that some people don’t need a shoulder to cry on every time something goes wrong.”

Something about that rings false and Yuri sits up to better examine Otabek. He’s smiling, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “What is it?” he asks after a few seconds of Yuri’s scrutiny.

“You know there’s nothing wrong with asking for help, if you do end up needing it.” Yuri’s almost surprised the world doesn’t explode from the sheer hypocrisy of what they’re saying. Asking for help is so far out of Yuri’s experience it might as well be on an entirely new plane of existence. Otabek isn’t aware of that though, and while Yuri might not take their own advice they know it’s worthwhile. “I can be that shoulder, I guess. You don’t have to be alone with your problems if they’re too much.”

Otabek’s face softens faintly as Yuri speaks, a more heartfelt smile curling his lips. He ducks his head, cheeks darkening. “Thanks. That’s…thanks. I guess it’s just hard to admit how I’m feeling to people who saw me grow up. They all know that most of the time I genuinely don’t need help, so the few times I do it becomes that much more difficult.”

He scoots over until his thigh presses against the cushion and wraps an arm around Yuri. The touch is strong, grounding, and when Otabek pulls them in they irresistibly follow, their position on the cushion giving them the bump of height needed to rest their head on their friend’s as their sides meet. This is unfamiliar territory for Yuri, a warm body seeking out comfort from their own, yet there’s no instinct to escape. Instead their heart aches at the slow rise and fall from Otabek’s breath against them. It’s soothing and exhilarating and terrifying, all at once.

“I’m glad you’re here, Yuri,” Otabek murmurs. “I’ve been so lost lately, but once you showed up everything seemed to just fall into place. So, thank you, for giving me the push to do something with my life. Thank you for being you.”

If Yuri’s blinking back tears that’s no one’s business but their own. “I missed you too,” they choke out. “Turns out neither of our lives are what we thought they’d be.”

Otabek’s grip tightens and he slowly says, “JJ mentioned something about that. About specialities?”

The urge to pull away comes at last, but Otabek’s arm around them seems determined to keep them in place. “Of course he did,” they spit. “He can’t help getting in everyone’s business, especially where he’s not wanted.”

A brushing sensation makes its way up their side, and Yuri realizes Otabek is trying to comfort them the way he always has, now rubbing their side instead of their tail. Warmth rises uncontrollably in their chest and they let out a frustrated huff of breath. “I have so much potential, everyone’s said so for as long as I can remember. It’s why I spent so much time in the palace training when I was younger and still further removed from the throne. I was supposed to be something incredible.”

“You think you’re not?”

“I don’t have a speciality!” Admitting it hurts, despite how long they’ve known. “Yakov’s gone through every type he’s heard of, done test after test to see if we somehow missed mine earlier or if it developed later. It doesn’t exist. All this potential and it’s out of reach—I’m about as powerful as I was when we first met. I’m abnormal, the family disappointment.”

“That’s not true.” Otabek’s voice is sharp and disapproving, his fingers digging into Yuri’s skin. “And if anyone’s told you that then they’re deluding themselves. You’re incredible. The world is practically set against you but I can tell you’ve kept on fighting. As soon as you saw what I was you were determined to bring me to a teacher, and had the knowledge to do so. No matter your strength you’ve literally blown through a wall to protect me. It’s not power that matters, it’s what you do with what you have that does, and you have the heart of a soldier, Yuri. Don’t let anyone make you think that doesn’t mean anything.”

Yuri wrenches themself free, landing heavily back on the cushion. Every inch of their body feels like it's on fire and they quickly bury their face in the soft cloth. “There's something wrong with you,” they mutter, words almost indecipherably muffled. “No one actually says stuff like that.” At least not to Yuri.

“I care about my friends,” Otabek says casually, as if he hadn't just ripped a hole in Yuri's chest. “I don't think there's anything wrong with making sure you know how important you are.”

Yuri's heart speeds up further and they have to take a long shuddering breath. It's difficult through the cushion so they force themself to roll over, eyes squeezed tightly shut. The heated blush remains, but as long as they don't have to look at Otabek they should be able to keep it together.

Neither of them speak for a while, Otabek seemingly content with silence after his rush of words and Yuri in no shape to continue the conversation. Rather than being awkward as Yuri would have expected, the stillness is comforting. They manage to get their heart under control and soon enough are letting themself enjoy the unique pleasure of being quiet with a good friend. As Yuri reflects on the wild turn their day has taken exhaustion creeps up on them once more, and before they have a chance to fight it they've fallen fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Otabek had lied to Yuri. Not when he was reassuring them, god forbid—every word in that speech had come from the heart. No, he'd lied afterwards, when he'd implied that he cares about Yuri the same way he cares about the rest of his friends.

The truth is Otabek doesn't have many friends to give encouragement to in the first place. He's always been a loner, sticking to the sidelines even in the tightly knit group of professional swimmers he'd spent time with out of necessity. The ones he had made were generally casual, the type of person he could invite to a club but not a family gathering. And after the way he'd vanished from Almaty he isn't sure any of them would want to restart their relationships with him again anyway.

Yuri though. Yuri is different. The years between them should have left Otabek fumbling for common ground. A brief childhood friendship does not an adult one make, after all. But somehow they've started up right where they left off, the same dynamic and trust lasting despite the separation, maybe even stronger now. When Otabek looks at Yuri it’s with the surety that the list of things he wouldn’t do if this beautiful creature asked is distressingly thin.

Loyalty, he wants to call it.

 _‘You know that’s wrong,’_ a quiet part of him insists.

Otabek glances over at Yuri and lets the pang in his heart fill him. They look so peaceful for once, curled up on the cushion like a cat as they sleep. His fingers lift without him noticing, responding to the call of Yuri’s golden hair spread out all around them. For all the contact he and Yuri have had he’s never touched their hair, what now seems like a severe oversight.

He can’t. Otabek grimaces, pulling himself away. He’s tired, so drained his vision’s been blurring when he moves for the past hour. Any decision he makes now is bound to be suspect, no matter how much he wishes he could simply stretch out next to Yuri and let their body heat lull him to sleep.

Instead he stands, blinking back the stars in his eyes and spinning in his head. Phichit wanted self-awareness? Well, Otabek is uncomfortably self-aware right now. If the Focus doesn’t accept him in this state he doubts he’ll ever become zen enough to please it.

“Phichit,” he calls softly once he’s at the doorway the man left through. This new room is much the same as the one Phichit had let him into when he’d shown up on his doorstep, the style of smooth sandstone walls and thickly carpeted floors unchanged from the rest of the building. The one obvious difference is the contents—rather than a table covered in the remains of the half-eaten meal Otabek had interrupted Phichit during, there is a table covered with books. Piles of books, some open, some closed, some so worn their covers are hanging on to the pages more through willpower than any physical connection. Beside them is Phichit, humming softly as he flips through one under a floating ball of pale red light. The color turns his skin a strange hue when he looks up at Otabek’s arrival.

“Are you ready?” he asks, stepping away from the table. The light follows, bobbing along right above his head. “Don’t be upset if it doesn’t work. It took JJ ages and ages to be accepted and Yuu—” He stops, laughing awkwardly. “Let’s just say there’s no shame in needing to take some time.”

“I’m ready to try, at least,” Otabek answers. He closes the distance to Phichit and pauses. “How exactly do I do that?”

Phichit grins and spreads his arms. “Lay it on me. Say what you need to say and I’ll tell you if it’s enough.”

The prospect of admitting secrets to this stranger he’s barely admitted to himself makes Otabek’s skin crawl. “You have to listen?”

“Trust me Otabek.” Phichit grabs Otabek’s shoulders and stares unblinkingly at him. His deep eyes are startlingly serious and Otabek sees an age in them, much older than the late-twenties Phichit appears to be. “I know what I’m doing. Nothing you say to me leaves this room if you don’t want it to.”

Alright then. It’s not as if he has any real choice. Otabek pulls in a deep breath as Phichit steps back, pushing down the anxiety crawling up his throat. No time for fear.

“I’m lost,” he begins. “I’ve been lost for a while. Even when I had my old life I don’t think it was ever really enough? I swam professionally because I was good at it, because it was the closest thing to peace I could find. But losing it hurt more because I’d built my life on it than because it was right for me.”

Phichit nods encouragingly, gently rubbing the Focus dangling from his ear.

“And I hope being an Anchor is what I’ve truly been waiting for, but what if it isn’t? What if when all this is over I have to go back to being…me? Boring Otabek, who ran away to a tiny village because he couldn’t handle facing the world. But here I matter, I have a purpose. Everything about this is so amazing, even the parts leaving me tired and hurt and _tired_ , and I’m afraid.” Otabek swallows, unable to meet Phicht’s gaze. “I’m afraid of what it will do to me if it doesn’t last.”

“Keep going.”

Otabek searches for anything else. He feels empty, the combination of exploring this with Yuri and then confessing it to Phichit leaving him at a loss. What more does he have to say?

“You’re almost there,” Phichit murmurs. “Why is doing this so amazing? What would you be losing?”

The soft words pull at something in Otabek, conjuring the undercurrent of joy he’s felt since he rediscovered his Focus. He knows what it is, the warmth unmistakable. But saying it outloud… “I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re afraid, but there’s nothing wrong with fear. With courage we can let it drive us. With wisdom we can let it show us what is important. What are you feeling, Otabek?”

 _‘Love,’_ his heart whispers. _‘It’s too early, too sudden, too fragile, but it’s love all the same.’_

“Everything,” he breathes.

Phichit nods, a slow grin spreading across his face. “And there we have it.”

Before the words have sunk in Phichit’s dropped his air of calm and leaped at Otabek. “Congratulations!” he shouts after the tightest hug Otabek thinks he’s ever gotten. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up but I was pretty sure you’d make it first try. You have the same aura Galina did, and all she had to do was give my Focus a stern look to be accepted. Strong, that woman was. Knew her mind and wasn’t afraid to show it. I’m not surprised someone like you is her successor.”

Otabek gapes, shaken at the reminder that Phichit had known his grandmother, maybe more truthfully than her own family. Questions pile up in his mouth, so much knowledge he wishes he’d had the time to learn suddenly in reach. He wants to badger Phichit until every scrap of memory has been shared, until the woman he should have had the chance to know is no longer a mystery.

“Is it alright if we stay here tonight?” he makes himself say instead. There’ll be time for reminiscing later. Right now he needs to rest before he passes out. “You’ve helped me so much, thank you, and I don’t want to ask for more, but Yuri’s already asleep and I don’t know how time works here but it’s late evening for me and I—”

Phichit covers Otabek’s mouth. “Relax Otabek, it’s fine. I was going to suggest you sleep here anyway. The both of you looked dead on your feet when you showed up, it’d be irresponsible to kick you out right away.”

“I don’t have a spare bedroom,” Phichit continues, turning to pull Otabek through another doorway. “Not many guests you see. But since Yuri’s taken care of I’ll just give you mine for a bit. I wasn’t planning on sleeping soon anyway, too much to do, so it all works out.”

Too tired to protest, Otabek meekly follows his chattering host into a small, oddly humid room. It’s dark when they enter, but at Phichit’s sharp whistle a dim glow emanates from a series of symbols carved in the walls. The light reveals a pile of cushions at the far end of the room, the closest thing to a bed it seems to contain. He stumbles forward without a second thought and falls face first into the softness. His whole body aches.

“I don’t think you have to be afraid anymore,” Phichit whispers, and the light vanishes. “Either of you.”

Otabek doesn’t have time to wonder what he’s talking about before sleep comes crashing in, and all he sees is black.

* * *

“Beka.”

Something pokes Otabek’s forehead and he whines, rolling over to escape whatever’s disturbing his sleep.

“Beka wake up. Phichit keeps talking to me and I need a buffer.”

Words. There are words happening. “Hnnng?” he tries.

“Step up the enthusiasm, this is urgent.”

Warmth presses against Otabek cheeks and he cracks an eye open. A hand’s breadth away is Yuri, eyes narrowed determinedly. “Why are you grabbing my face?” he croaks.

Yuri pats his cheeks once more and leans back, blowing a strand of hair away from where it’d fallen over their eye. “It got you up didn’t it?”

“And I need to be up why?” Otabek doesn’t feel like he’s about to fall over anymore, but there’s a heaviness in his body that suggests a few more hours of sleep would be helpful.

“Phichit’s talking to me,” Yuri repeats gravely. “It was fine when he was healing my face, but he kept going and it’s your duty as my friend to make him stop.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Otabek groans, but sits up anyway. Knowing Yuri they’re not likely to leave him alone even if he insists. Better to pretend he has some level of control over his actions.

Kneeling next to him, Yuri glances at his hair and snorts. “You look like something died on your head.”

“You look like something died on your face,” Otabek mutters. Does this world have coffee? He could really use some coffee right about now.

Caught up in his craving, it takes Otabek a moment to notice Yuri’s silence. His friend is motionless, staring at Otabek like a deer in headlights. He snaps to catch their attention. “Are you asleep too? Can we go back to sleeping?”

Yuri shakes their head to clear it, the motion sending strands of hair back onto their face. Sometime since Otabek had left them their circlet had vanished and Yuri frustratedly shoves the hair back as they say, “I’m sorry, I’m just in shock that those words came out of your mouth. What are you, five? Are you gonna pretend Phichit grew my nose back wrong?”

“I’m _tired_ ,” Otabek whines. Mornings have been his bane for years, to the distress of many a coach and family member. If Otabek could schedule his life to begin after ten am he would. He doesn’t know what equivalent time it is here, but he’d be willing to bet it’s something ungodly early.

“And adorable.” Yuri looks as if they’d like the ground to swallow them a second after they say it, but soldier on through the blush. “When do you think you’ll be coherent? We do need to leave eventually.”

“Give me an hour. And food. Does Phichit have food?” It’s dawning on Otabek that he’d been too busy, and then too exhausted, to eat dinner the previous night. He can feel his stomach trying to digest itself.

“‘Does Phichit have food?’” Yuri laughs, eyes bright. The sight brings the revelation of the night before crashing down on Otabek, and he’s barely able to concentrate as Yuri continues. “He’s been cooking for since I woke up. I told him he could manifest something but he said it wouldn’t taste as good, and what kind of host would he be if he served a subpar breakfast?”

“That’s nice, let’s not keep him waiting.” Otabek stands, ignoring the unpleasantness of having slept in an outfit that included jeans, and rushes out of the room, leaving a gaping Yuri in his wake.

He doesn’t know if he can handle this. Wanting to touch Yuri is nothing new, but now that he’s put a name to what he’s feeling it’s like everything has been dialed to eleven. How is he supposed to be alone with them, when every time they smile he has to fight the urge to take their hand, to kiss them soft and sweet? Love is terrible, he hates it.

“Good morning,” Phichit chirps from his cushion as Otabek strides into the dining room/kitchen/apparent workplace overflow room, if the scattered books that have migrated in are any sign. “Oliang?”

“What?” Otabek wanders over to the small table, nearly overflowing with different dishes, most of which he doesn’t recognize. There’s a lot of rice and he takes a bowl. Rice is simple. He can handle rice.

“Sorry, it’s sorta iced coffee? Cold and caffeinated.” Phichit holds out a mug and Otabek takes it gratefully.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he says after a long gulp. It’s surprisingly sweet, but as long as there’s caffeine in it he doesn’t particularly care about the specifics. The cold is an added benefit, Otabek already sweating from the desert heat despite the early hour.

“Are you gonna start acting like a normal person now?” Yuri grumbles from behind him. They push past Otabek to the table and grab a half-eaten plate, shoving bits of meat into their mouth as they sit next to Phichit.

The easy air they’d shared minutes ago is gone, replaced by a thick tension that lasts through breakfast. Otabek dejectedly slurps up the last of the porridge he’d ended up serving himself and frowns. He hates fighting with Yuri, more than he hates wanting to kiss them. He doesn’t know how to explain why he ran off though, not without revealing feelings he’d rather keep locked in a box shoved under his bed forever. So he sits and stews, wishing he’d done anything other than run away. He was supposed to be done with that.

“I think it’s about time I send you along,” Phichit says when they’ve all finished. He’s picked up on the uneasiness between his guests and kept conversation to a minimum until now, something Otabek is grateful for. He wouldn’t be surprised if Phichit just wanted them out of his house so he could get back to his isolated peace.

“Fine.” Yuri runs a hand through their hair, scowling. “Do you know where the last Anchor is? All I know is that they exist, so I’ll be no help.”

For the first time Phichit looks nervous. “Yes, I know where he is. Yuri are you certain you want to go? I haven’t heard from Yakov or Lilia but they must be looking for you; this doesn’t seem like a trip they’d sanction. You might be better off going back home.”

“I don’t need a keeper!” Yuri snaps. “I’m an adult and Otabek is my friend. If I want to help him with this I should be allowed to. Besides, there’s no telling what idiocy he’d get up to if I wasn’t around.”

Otabek wants to protest, but decides discretion is the better part of valor. No point in arguing when Yuri’s already angry with him.

“That’s very true.” Phichit actually starts wringing his hands. “You have every right to go with Otabek, what was I thinking…is there any way I can convince you to stay here anyway?”

“Not now that you’ve told me you want me to,” Yuri replies suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Phichit laughs weakly. He starts tapping on the wall beside him, his fingers drumming a complex, stilted rhythm. “You’re not prone to angry outbursts anymore, are you?”

By this point Yuri’s eyes are practically slits. “Phichit,” they growl. “Tell me what you know.”

“That’s the one thing I can’t do.”

The tapping increases in speed and Otabek notices faint cracks spreading out in the stonework. He pushes aside his bowl and scoops up his bag. He doubts Phichit would push him through whatever portal he’s making like JJ did, but this is shaping up to be another rapid exit and he’d prefer keeping his belongings on his person.

“What, this is one of your secrets?” Yuri’s cheeks are pink, their fists clenched. Otabek wonders if his friend is going to start a fight with everyone they meet on this journey. “You know something that’s going to upset me but won’t share because you ‘promised’?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Phichit replies shortly. There’s a crumbling depression beneath his fingers that grows as he speaks. “That is literally my job. Find out on your own if you must, but I won’t betray my reputation, or my friend, because you can’t wait a few minutes.”

Phichit turns to the wall, spreading his palm flat in the center of a crater that stretches to the ceiling. Already moving closer, Otabek catches the name he whispers as he shoves his hand forward.

“Katsuki Yuuri.”

The wall falls away, stone torn back into the same colorful emptiness that filled JJ’s portal. Phichit looks back at the two of them, smiling as Otabek comes up beside him. “Visit me again soon, when we have time to talk. Your grandmother told me a lot about you and your family; I’d like to return the favor.”

Otabek’s throat prickles. “You knew? That I’m not just her—her successor?”

“I know a lot of things.” Phichit winks, then calls back to Yuri, still glaring from the other side of the room. “Are you coming or not?”

“You couldn’t pay me to stop now.” Yuri stomps over and grabs Otabek’s arm. “Let’s go Beka.”

They storm into the portal and Otabek, keenly aware of how well this represents the rest of their relationship, helplessly lets himself get dragged through.

* * *

The portal opens inside what looks to be a house. Habitually it seems, as the dark wooden wall Otabek sags against while catching his breath looks to be part of an alcove designed as an entryway. He doesn’t get many more details of where they’ve landed, too focused on containing the dizziness threatening to topple him. The hole in his chest is bigger than ever and he doesn’t understand why. Isn’t it a result of using magic? He hasn’t done any spells since the first portal to JJ, and he’d already recovered from summoning Yuri by that point. By that logic he should be fine by now.

“Beka?” Yuri’s grip on his arm currently serves more as support than mere contact and their blurred face closes in on his. Their anger from before has been replaced by pure concern. “Beka are you ok?”

Otabek doesn’t get the chance to lie and say he’s fine. A frantic scuttling starts down the hallway the alcove sits off of and as the two of them tense up, unsure if they’re about to be attacked again, from around the corner leaps a brown furry creature.

It’s a dog. A poodle, Otabek thinks, big and happy and intent on giving Yuri as many kisses as possible.

“I didn’t think you were a dog person,” he says to Yuri, who’s busy fighting off the wet nose stuck delightedly into their stomach.

“I’m not!”

“They don’t seem to think so.” Vision cleared for the most part, Otabek crouches and holds a hand out. The dog, perhaps discouraged by Yuri’s lack of interest in their greeting, drops to all fours to consider it.

“Hey there,” he croons, wiggling his fingers. The dog inches forward.

“Are _you_ a dog person?” Otabek doesn’t look up but he can tell Yuri is slightly horrified.

“Not particularly.” The dog lets Otabek rub its head and he smiles. “It’s always good to be nice to people’s pets though, and I bet that goes double in the fae realm.”

“We’re not in the fae realm anymore.” Yuri frowns at the dog, who’s licking Otabek’s fingers delightedly. “Either the last Anchor is a human too, or he’s decided to live in the mortal realm. Which would be a stupid decision, no offense but your world is boring.”

“I’m pretty sure all you’ve seen of it is a beach and now this house. That’s nowhere near enough to base a decision on.” Otabek gives the dog one last scratch, then stands and peers around the corner. The hallway is beautifully decorated, the art placed between each open door an oddly balanced mix of East-Asian influences and the Eurasian styles he’s more familiar with from home. It’s also empty, no sign of the Anchor they’re supposed to meet.

“I’m extrapolating.” Yuri strides confidently into the hallway, stopping only when the dog starts bouncing around their feet. “Dammit dog, what do you want?”

“Makkachin?” a voice calls. “We’re home sweetheart, where are you?”

The dog, Makkachin apparently, starts barking excitedly but doesn’t leave the hallway.

“She says we have fae visitors!” another voice says and Yuri freezes. Their already pale skin drains of color as two men enter through the furthest door. “Phichit we weren’t expect—”

The man on the right looks human, a little older than Phichit appeared, a smidge past his twenties. His shaggy black hair is tied up in a small ponytail, his brown eyes covered by big, thick-framed glasses. He tenses when he sees Yuri and Otabek, grip on the bags filling his arms tightening.

The other man is anything but human. He exudes the same air of ‘other’ as Yuri, JJ, and Phichit do, even dressed as he is in tight-fitting jeans and a baggy tank-top. His body’s too lean, his skin too pale, his hair too strange a shade of silver, to be from the mortal realm. And his face, when he locks eyes with Yuri, shows all too obvious signs of recognition.

“Victor?” the first man asks quietly. “Do you know them?”

Beside Otabek Yuri’s only movement has been to start shaking. He can’t decide whether to grasp their trembling shoulder or move away from the danger zone, settling on taking a single step back. He has the feeling this is something he needs to let Yuri take point on, for better or worse.

“Yuri,” Victor says softly, raising his hands placatingly. At the name the first man breathes in quickly, eyes widening. “How did you know—”

“Shut up.” Yuri’s voice is cold, steady even as their body shakes. “You don’t get to speak to me.”

They turn to the other man, who flinches when they demand, “Are you the Anchor?”

“Yuri,” Victor repeats, moving in front of his companion, who’s shaking his head. “Please, let me explain.”

“Explain _what_?” Yuri’s voice cracks but they persevere. “Why you left? Where you’ve been all this time? How I’m supposed to feel about you abandoning me, and the rest of our family? I don’t care.”

“I know you’re mad, but—”

“I was mad six years ago.” Yuri shrugs, the movement deceptively casual. Otabek can tell they’re close to breaking. “I’ve since decided your words and actions mean nothing to me. So back off.”

Victor quiets, a horrible wounded expression dragging down his entire body. Makkachin bounds over and starts pawing at him, whining and snuffling. Otabek decides it’s time he step in.

“Excuse me,” he begins, before the dark haired man gasps.

“You!” The bags are unceremoniously dropped, vegetables spilling out onto the floor.

“Yuuri what's wrong?” Victor asks, and when he doesn't look at Yuri Otabek realizes this other man must be Katsuki Yuuri, the man Phichit sent them to and the last Anchor after all.

"I told you—”

“Vitya he's—”

Yuri and Yuuri both stop, Yuuri flushing as Yuri glares.

“I'm done,” Yuri snaps, whirling to glower at Otabek too. “Prove your last fucking quality so we can leave this hellhole forever. Find me when you're finished.” They shove past Otabek and stomp off down the hallway. A doorway at the end opens into someplace sunny and they disappear through it, leaving the three men alone.

Otabek examines Victor and Yuuri as they whisper to each other, collecting the scattered contents of the grocery bags. He doesn’t know what Victor did to Yuri, what relationship they’d had that his leaving could hurt them so much, but he can feel his hackles raising. No wonder Yuri seems so prone to easy aggression, so sensitive to perceived slights, if they’d been abandoned by someone they trusted in the midst of coming to terms with their lack of a speciality. Otabek’s temper is a slow thing, difficult to prompt except by extreme actions—as Victor turns his ice blue eyes back to him it starts to simmer.

“So you’re the newest Anchor, hmm? Nice to meet you.” Victor’s grin is blindingly white.

Otabek doesn’t trust it, replying with a grunt, a nod, and crossed arms. Intimidation is harder without his leather jacket and when done while feeling like he’s been hit by a truck, but he thinks he manages a decent job anyway.

“I’m Yuuri,” Yuuri says, “and this is my husband Victor. Do you, um, want to tell us your name?”

“Otabek.” He should stop being rude, at least to Yuuri. He doesn’t seem to have done anything besides marry a potential douche. “Sorry for barging into your house like this, Phichit sent us through.”

“A little warning would have been nice but it’s no problem!” Yuuri laughs nervously, rubbing his neck. “I’m glad to see you either way, this has been a long time coming.”

“How do you know Yura?” Victor jumps in. Yuuri’s elbow to his side doesn’t deter him. “I didn’t think they spent time in the mortal realms.”

“Well you thought wrong,” Otabek snaps. “And they don’t like being called that so stop.”

He looks back at Yuuri and continues, voice mellowing. “Everything’s been happening so fast I’m not shocked neither Phichit or JJ got the chance to tell you we were on our way. I’m sure everyone’s been focused on getting me prepared to help fix this Imbalance.”

Yuuri peers inquisitively at Otabek, then gestures to the bags. “Victor, how about you put these away while I talk to our guest?” He pats his husband on the arm and smiles shyly. “There’s a lot to discuss, Anchor to Anchor.”

Surprisingly Victor doesn’t protest. He grabs the bags, kisses Yuuri on the cheek, and walks through another door, Makkachin trailing behind. And then there were just the two of them, Otabek alone with the mysterious Anchor in charge of his final test.

“Follow me,” Yuuri says and opens yet one more door, the only one not left open to the hallway. The room beyond should be stuffy, still summer air turning it into an unpleasant heat trap without a cross-breeze. Instead Otabek is taken aback at how pleasant everything is, from the perfect temperature to the sunny paper door covering the far wall to the faint floral scent stemming from nowhere concrete. It’s a standard Japanese sitting room, complete with kotatsu in the center, but somehow the aura of it almost demands calm.

Yuuri’s shoulders relax the second he enters the room, his smile as he invites Otabek to sit by him at the kotatsu wide and welcoming. “Do you want tea? I probably should have asked Victor to get us some, but I thought it was better to get him out of the way quickly. He seemed to be making you…tense.”

Otabek returns the smile despite himself. “I’m alright, thank you. And I apologize, I should have been more polite to your husband. This is your home after all.”

“Somehow I doubt you were rude for your own sake.” Yuuri pulls loose his ponytail and runs a hand through his hair. “I saw what happened between Victor and Yuri too, and while I only know Victor’s side of things I can guess at the rest. This was inevitable, as much as we tried to pretend it wasn’t.”

“Don’t tell me any more,” Otabek asks quickly. He wants to know the rest, deeply, but this isn’t how he should find out. Yuri had been upset enough when JJ blabbed about their speciality and this situation seems far more delicate. “I’d like to hear it from Yuri first, if that’s alright.”

Yuuri nods. “All I’ll say is that Victor is the best thing to happen to me and I won’t regret us being together. I’ll deal with any consequences as they come; the bottom line is that we’re around to make each other happy.”

Otabek is hit with a wave of longing so sudden it breaks through the heavy calm of the room and sets his pulse racing. _He wants that._ Maybe not the saccharine domesticity Yuuri and Victor have cultivated, complete with a dog and morning trips to the store, but the core of their relationship. The love. Their unflinching dedication to each other tugs at his already bruised and sensitive heart and he forces himself to change the topic before he gets too melancholy. This is no time to be distracted by his drama with Yuri.

“So how am I supposed to prove myself to your Focus?” he asks, leaning forward. “Phichit didn’t say what I should expect before sending me.”

“Right.” Yuuri starts fiddling with his ring. Rings, Otabek notices. The first is a standard wedding band, gold and shiny and clearly well-loved. The second is older and clunkier, a large thumb ring inconsistent with Yuuri’s laidback style. At the center lies the stone Otabek knows must be Yuuri’s own Focus, passing in and out of sight as he rubs it steadily. “That.”

“Is there a problem?”

“That depends on your definition of a problem.” Yuuri takes a deep breath. “I know what you’re supposed to prove, I just have no clue how to help you do it.”

What?

“What do you mean you can’t help me?” Otabek wants to be kind, wants to be understanding, but he’s so tired. More than anything he just wants this to be over. “That’s your job!”

“It's complicated!” Yuuri cries. “JJ's test was about courage right? That's action, external proof. And with Phichit you must have shown you understand yourself; the wisdom is internal proof. Mine is different.”

“How?” He should have known things were going too easily. This last task will probably have him running up a mountain or memorizing a book by nightfall. Sleep, despite it being at latest mid-morning, seems like a far off dream.

“It’s unique to everyone, first off.” There’s an edge to Yuuri’s voice, anxiety slipping through the cracks in his smile. “I’ve only helped JJ with it personally, but from what the others told me their experiences were all different. I can’t say what you’ll specifically need to do.”

“What am I even proving?” Otabek demands.

“Oh.” Yuuri blinks. “I guess I forgot to mention that, sorry.” He waves his hands with half-hearted pizazz and attempts another smile. “You need to prove love.”

Otabek drops his head to the table and groans.

_Fuck._

* * *

Victor lives by the ocean, because of course he does. The back of his house leads to an overwhelmingly colorful garden, and beyond a long grassy slope running down to a beach of white sand. The gentle lap of waves is audible from the top of the hill and Yuri is drawn to the water despite themself.

They don't want to be here.

 _Fuck,_ they really don't want to be here.

Seeing Victor had been like getting punched, so unexpected Yuri isn't quite sure how they managed to create words. They haven't stopped shaking, don't know if they'll ever stop. So many emotions started screaming for attention when they realized whose house they were in that they have to bite their lip to keep from screaming as well. The taste of blood is shocking, grounding. Yuri makes themself breathe.

They are okay, are going to be okay, have to be okay.

Yuri wishes they'd been telling Victor the truth when they'd said they don't care anymore. Life would be so much easier if that were the case. It's how the person Yuri wants to be would react; they’d brush off any hurt as if it were nothing because it really would be. But no. Yuri's the type of person to feel as if they're being choked because a friend acted a little strangely while in the process of reordering their life, because an old and painful face appeared out of the blue to ruin their false equilibrium.

After so many years Yuri had hoped they were past this. Victor vanishing had devastated them, yes, but they'd still been an adolescent. They hadn't known what to do when the beloved heir, half idolized hero and half desperately needed pillar of support, had left them to flounder alone. It had been a trying time, their place in the world especially shaky as they were finally forced to accept that their dream of being a powerful spellcaster was not to be. Losing Victor had struck the final blow.

At least Yuri isn’t in wailing in histrionics or throwing a fit, the way both Victor and Phichit must have expected them to. They’ve grown that much. Now their not inconsiderable rage is tempered by sorrow, fear, and a tendril of hope. What are they supposed to do? How are they supposed to navigate the betrayal of Victor’s disappearance when beneath it is an undeniable relief that he’s back in their life? It’s too much to deal with unprepared without their brain exploding.

Yuri stays hunched up on the beach, head resting on their knees as they think for what seems like a very long time. They’re no closer to an answer when the swish of footsteps in sand sounds behind them. They know who it is without looking.

“You doing alright?” Otabek sits next to them. He’s changed his traveling clothes for the more familiar outfit of swim shorts and a tank-top, shoes left somewhere to gather dust as his bare feet gather dirt.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Otabek scoots closer so that their arms are touching. Yuri ignores the way the contact makes their heart race, adding another emotion to the mess they’re already feeling.

“That’s fine,” he says. “Would it make you feel better to imagine me snapping at Victor though? Because I did, sort of. Yuuri had to send him away and talk to me about the Anchor stuff alone.”

Yuri can’t help a small grin. “A little,” they admit. “Was he upset?”

“Distraught. There may have been tears. He’ll rue the day he crossed me.”

Otabek is humouring them but they don’t care. It’s nice to be cared about, effortlessly and automatically, as if there’s no question it should be done in the first place. The sentiment matters more than the specifics.

“Thank you,” they whisper, hugging their knees closer. The movement is instinctual despite Yuri’s distinct lack of experience with legs. It’s strange, and they’re struck with the urge, the need, to get their normal body back. “Can we go swimming? Right now?”

Otabek laughs. “Why do you think I’m dressed like this? I figured you’d be swimming already to be honest.”

Yuri doesn’t wait another second. They hurry over to the ocean, dropping the spell that keeps them humanoid as soon as the water’s deep enough. The rush of cool water over their gills feels like mastering a complex spell or getting a hug from their grandfather. The splash as Otabek dives in after them feels even better.

“I’ll race you to that outcropping,” Otabek cries and is off before Yuri can explain how horribly he’s about to regret that challenge. His form is beautiful, long and smooth and surprisingly fast. Yuri actually has to work to win, and uses the few seconds it takes their friend to catch up to ogle him shamelessly. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and Yuri thinks they deserve to enjoy this brief spot of fun before their day turns to shit again.

They’re doubly glad they decided to pay such close attention when Otabek slaps the rock beside Yuri and they notice the bags under his eyes. He looks tired, drained in a way Yuri doesn’t recognize or understand. Could this be a human reaction to spending time in the fae realms? They’ve never heard of such a thing, but the fear is there all the same and they grab his chin.

“Uhhhh,” Otabek starts. For all his confusion he doesn’t move away. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. Didn’t you almost pass out when we arrived? Is this a human sickness?” If it is, Yuri’s going to have to ask that other Yuuri for help, which might very well kill them.

“I’m just tired.” Otabek shrugs. “This magic stuff is harder than I expected, that’s all.”

“You’ve done a handful of spells in the past few days, that’s nowhere near enough to drain you even without access to a Focus.” Unless… “Did you do a really big spell for Phichit while I was asleep? Or while proving that last quality today?”

Otabek shakes his head, breaking away slightly. There’s a faint pink on his cheeks. “No, no big spells. And this test is complicated, I might not be able to complete it quickly.”

Yuri’s heart sinks. That means staying. They won’t be able to brood on the beach until Otabek is done and then ride off cackling into the sunset, middle fingers firmly extended towards every aspect of this place. The thought of having to ask Victor for a room makes them shudder involuntarily.

Otabek frowns. “You don’t…I mean, I can send you home if you’d prefer. I won’t make you stay here just because I need to.”

He doesn’t look any happier about the idea than Yuri is. Leaving Otabek is not an option. Turns out even the prospect of forced contact with the man who taught them not to trust anyone isn’t enough to break the bond Yuri feels.

“I won’t abandon you.” The realization is a little comforting in its simplicity: no matter how strange the human is acting, no matter what trials he pulls them into, when push comes to shove? Where Otabek is is where Yuri wants to be. There’s a pounding in their blood at the thought, as if they’re gearing up for something momentous.

The color on Otabek’s cheeks deepens and he ducks his head. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Yuri replies distractedly, trying to pinpoint the source of the strange tingling in their chest. Are they sick too? Is whatever’s wrong with Otabek contagious? “But back to you looking like shit.”

Otabek rolls his eyes. “Yuri I’m _fine_. Look, I’ll prove it.”

“How?” Yuri’s only going to accept that Otabek’s alright when he’s slept for a week and doesn’t look like he’s being eaten alive by a curse (they quickly check with their Sight for the obvious types of malicious spellwork—no he isn’t), but they won’t stop him from trying.

“Ummm.” Otabek squints, thinking. “You haven’t gotten to visit your grandfather in a while, right?”

Where is he going with this? “I’m not going to let you summon him Beka. He’s busy, and it wouldn’t work unless he knew you anyway.”

“Is there a way I can just contact him then? Let you guys talk face to face, like Skype?”

Yuri has no idea what the fuck kind of spell Skype is, but it does give them an idea. “You could create a water window!” It’s a simple enough spell if you have enough power to fuel it. Otabek’s lack of technical knowledge shouldn’t hold him back as long as he’s as strong as he insists, and if he isn’t the spell will just fizzle out, not harm him.

“One magic video chat coming up.” Otabek grins and wiggles his fingers. “Teach it to me.”

In order to take advantage of Otabek’s speciality they stay in the ocean, Otabek gripping the outcropping with one hand to steady himself as he traces symbols in the water with the other. Yuri talks him through each step, excitement growing the closer they get to seeing their grandfather. It’s the perfect remedy to their horrendous day and Otabek suggesting it makes them want to drape themself over him and squeeze until he understands how grateful they are.

“Now you say his name and activate the spell,” Yuri finishes, “If everything’s been done correctly the window should open right in front of him.”

The power of a full name is a dangerous thing, but Yuri doesn’t hesitate in giving Otabek their grandfather’s, like they gave him their own when they were children. The idea of him using either with ill intent is absurd. Otabek whispers into the swirling water before him and closes his eyes, reaching inside himself for the well of power that will send the spell across the realms.

The water flattens, icy smooth, and for a moment Yuri sees their grandfather’s puzzled face flicker into sight. Then Otabek wheezes, high and thin and terrified, and the image vanishes.

“Yuri,” he chokes out as they grab him frantically. His face is deathly pale, his skin cold and shivering. He silently mouths something else before the stone on his chest blazes to life.

It was only a day ago that Yuri had touched Otabek’s Focus, accessing its core to prove the power it contained. They remember the pain that brought vividly, the built in deterrent for anyone stupid enough to try stealing or manipulating something as powerful as a Focus.

This is so much worse.

Every nerve in Yuri’s body feels like it’s on fire, the pain so all encompassing they only know they’re screaming because what else could they be doing? They want to die, want to tear themself apart to escape the agony in their veins, and they scream and scream and scream and—

They’re free.

Tears stream down Yuri’s face as they lie helpless on the beach. They can hardly breathe through their wrecked throat, gasping for air between sobs as someone hauls them upright.

_“What did you two do?”_

Yuri opens their eyes despite themself, Victor’s wild face inches away. He shakes them vigorously. “Answer me Yuri!”

“Nothing,” they croak. “I don’t know what…we didn’t…Beka!”

Victor’s hands don’t resist as they pull themself away and search frantically for Otabek. The only other person on the beach is Yuuri, half a step behind Victor and growing paler by the second. They turn to the ocean and feel like screaming again. A circle of water around where they and Otabek were is glowing a sickly green, massive waves within it fierce and violent as they crash against the invisible siding.

Otabek is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?!” Yuri shouts. They don’t care about looking weak in front of Victor, about the million different reasons they once had to never ask him for help. All that matters is getting Otabek to safety. “You have to go get him, please, there’s something wrong with him, his Focus exploded and he’s just a human and—”

“His Focus _what?_ ” Yuuri drops to his knees and takes Victor’s place shaking Yuri. “Are you…was he even grounding himself?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, let me go!” If no one’s going to save Otabek they’ll do it themself, if they can just get _free_.

“None of us taught him to ground himself.” Yuuri sounds as if he’s in shock. “He’s been hopping between the realms, practically ripping his magic out of himself, because we were all too _stupid_ to think of teaching him lesson number one!” He releases Yuri to bury his face in Victor’s shoulder. “Oh my god.”

It’s all the distraction Yuri needs. Ignoring Victor’s belated cry they fling themself back into the ocean, wriggling until the water’s deep enough to swim freely. Their body aches, still weak and trembling, but there’s a fire in their chest that grows the closer they get to the bubble of force separating them from Otabek. They can feel it sing as they reach the wall.

“Let me in!” Yuri bellows, slamming their fist against the glow. Or, trying to. There’s a hint of resistance when they make contact, but at their words the wall ripples like the water surrounding it, and their hand slips through.

They immediately dart in, not sure how long whatever they just did will last. The reasons don’t matter anyway; as long as it gets them to Otabek Yuri doesn’t care what’s going on.

Inside the bubble is chaos. The churning water knocks Yuri back and forth, dizzying in its strength and ferocity. Everywhere they look the green light flashes and shifts, distorting the world until they can’t even tell which way is up. They flail, trying to find the center. That’s where Otabek is, they can feel it.

An eternity passes for Yuri’s panicking heart before they finally catch a glimpse. Otabek is floating motionless, completely submerged and undisturbed by the havoc around him. His Focus is a beacon of bright green energy, but it too is unaffected in the midst of the storm. Yuri shoots to his side and feels their heart shatter when they get close enough to see exactly how still Otabek is.

He’s not breathing.

“No,” Yuri pleads, fighting against the waves to stay by him. Their anger is gone, their fear, their drive. All that’s left is the hollow, heart-rending feeling of loss. “Beka please, _please_.”

Nothing. Limply Yuri tries slapping Otabek's face. Maybe he's just in shock. Maybe he's playing an agonizingly cruel joke. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The current shifts, pulling them away from Otabek's body, and for a moment Yuri considers letting it do with them as it pleases. Every speck of fight in them is overshadowed by their sorrow. They'd only just gotten him back. They were supposed to have years together, enough time for Yuri to figure themself out, to work up the courage to lay their heart and all its stupid, tender feelings bare. But now it's all gone.

The fire in Yuri's chest pulses, stronger with each beat of their heart as it fills their body with energy. No. No they can't leave him. They promised they wouldn't abandon him and they won't, not ever.

Yuri swims back to Otabek and finds a spot of relative quiet right above where he floats. Body curled upside-down they reach out to tilt his slack head up. They have to say a goodbye. Even if he's gone they have to let him know he was loved.

Instinct guides Yuri's lips down to cover Otabek's. There's something pushing inside them and they follow it, letting power pour out through the kiss. They don't know what they're doing but it feels as natural as breathing, magic coming easier than they'd ever thought it could. It feels impossible. It feels like hope.

' _Please_ ,’ Yuri begs whatever might be listening. ' _I can't lose him, I love him, please.’_

One final pulse ripples out from their heart, and then everything calms. The roiling water stops tugging at their tail, the light from the Focus fades to nothing, the momentous energy building inside Yuri vanishes, spent on a makeshift spell of pure emotion. They close their eyes and kiss Otabek again, afraid to look at what effect they might have had. This was an unplanned, desperate attempt at the unimaginable, and if it had failed…

Something moves against Yuri’s lips.

Something tugs at Yuri’s hair.

Yuri’s heart sings.

* * *

_~two weeks later~_

“Where the hell are you?!”

Otabek fights a laugh at the deja vu. Aisha’s going to get grey hairs from him at this rate. “You’re not going to like the answer.”

“I didn’t like not being able to get in contact with you for two weeks,” Aisha growls. “I didn’t like having to call our parents and tell them you’d vanished, _again_. I think I can handle knowing the location of what thankfully isn’t your corpse.”

Lazily stretched out next to him on the wide, messy bed, Yuri tenses. Otabek apologetically runs his free hand through their hair and sighs. He already regrets putting this call on speaker phone; Yuri’s been through enough.

“I’m sorry,” he says, catching Yuri’s gaze so they know he’s talking to them too. “I didn’t plan on any of this happening.”

“But you’re ok?”

Otabek doesn’t know if he’d say that. A near coma for a week and strict bed rest insisted upon by two very intense and very guilty hosts for another due to his having been brought back from the dead feels pretty far from ok, no matter how much better he’s doing now. But he can’t tell Aisha that, not over the phone, not without a plan to explain to her the wonders hidden in the world, and their family.

“I’ve been better, but you really don’t need to worry.” He hopes she gives him the out.

“Details. Now.” It’s a futile hope. Aisha’s voice is steel and Yuri snorts as Otabek winces at the phone.

“I’m in Japan?” he tries. Maybe distraction will work?

“And I’ll be booking a flight there in about five minutes if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on.” The scary part is Aisha means it, which means he has five minutes to come up with a believable lie or be forced to track down his sister in a foreign country while she’s out for his blood.

The phone disappears from his hand. “Hey Aisha,” Yuri drawls, smirking at Otabek as they slip out of reach to the other side of the room. “The truth is Beka here met the love of his life, aka me, and is currently recovering from some adventures which, while technically because of me, did not contain any harm that was directly my fault. Nice to meet you.”

Aisha’s response is cut short by Yuri ending the call and tossing the phone over to Otabek. He catches it by instinct more than anything else and immediately holds it at arm’s length, fear of the tirade he’s about to be witness to rendering him dumb.

“I think that went well,” Yuri says, slowly working a kink from their side.

Otabek tracks the stretch of their bare torso despite himself and gulps. “She’s going to kill me,” he whispers. “You too. We’re both doomed.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Yuri flops back on the bed and grins up at Otabek. “We both know that’s my job.”

Otabek doesn’t deny it, just raises an eyebrow and returns the grin. He’s too enamoured with Yuri’s affection to stay anything other than giddily happy for long. The phone is dropped to the side table, ready for the discussion he truly does want to have with his sister, later. For now he lies down next to his…his Yuri, and dedicates the sight to memory.

“You’re being creepy,” Yuri warns, but doesn’t break eye contact. Otabek knows they enjoy this intimacy as much as he does. Because somehow, miraculously, they love him too.

“It’s called affection, maybe you should learn what it means.” Being in love doesn’t mean he has to take it easy on them though.

“Excuse me.” Yuri sits up, hand pressed to their chest in mock outrage. “You’re speaking to the literal embodiment of the power of love, maybe you should learn what respect means.”

Otabek’s grin softens at Yuri’s easy pride. A speciality based on love still strikes him as unbearably cheesy, but the joy in Yuri’s voice every time they mention it overrides anything else. He’s happy being in love with a cliche.

“One day you’ll get tired of saying that.”

“But not today. Or tomorrow.” Yuri leans down, face hovering above Otabek’s. “You might be putting up with it for the rest of your life,” they breathe.

Otabek tilts his head up and brushes his lips against Yuri’s. His blood pounds, his cheeks redden, and his heart fills with warmth. Finally, he’s home. “I look forward to it.”

“Good.” Yuri returns the kiss with twice the passion, smiling all the while. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! This is by far the longest thing I've ever written and I'm so happy about each and every one of you that made it to the end, thank you. I have a lot of headcanons about this universe that didn't make it into the fic, so shoot me an ask/comment if you're wondering about a specific character or plot point; who knows, I might even be inspired to write some side stories :D
> 
> Also, I want to let y'all know that since I'm still inexperienced with writing long (ish) fic and do want to get better, I am open to constructive criticism. Just be aware that it generally took me an hour of psyching myself up to read my beta's _very_ gentle input, so please be nice, my heart is not strong. But don't worry, even if you don't have advice I would Love to hear any thoughts. Comments and kudos are gold  <3


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